One Little two Little Three Little Thunderbirds
by Marla Fair
Summary: A friend of Ben's comes for a visit, bringing with him his three daughters and a dark secret from his past. At first it appears the greatest danger the visit presents lies in the insanity of a trio of young females in the Cartwright household. All too soon it becomes apparent that Gil Jenkins' demons have not been laid to rest and threaten not only him, but the Cartwrights as well.
1. Part One

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Thunderbirds

ONE

Little Joe Cartwright reined his horse, Cochise, in and stopped where he was. He removed his black hat, wiped moisture from his face with his sleeve, and then replaced the hat on his head, making sure to anchor it against the rising wind. The late September day was chilly and wet. Glancing up he noted the sun was past its zenith but still riding high in the sky, so it was probably around one to two o'clock in the afternoon. Their Pa had made it _very_ clear that he and Hoss were expected back at the house by five at the latest so they'd have time to clean up before their company arrived. They'd been sent to the high hilly portion of the Ponderosa that lay closest to Lake Tahoe to round up strays and had been at it since early the morning before. Joe was more than ready to quit. There was only one problem.

His older brother was missing.

Joe twisted his lips and scrunched up his nose as he scratched the back of his head. He wasn't really sure what'd happened. He'd seen Hoss heading south about an hour before, chasing down a sprightly steer. He'd laughed when the frightened animal made a sharp turn and the big man had tipped sideways in his saddle, nearly falling off. At the time he'd had his own ornery pair of steers to deal with. They were caged now a short ways back in the temporary corral their hired hands had erected several weeks before. He'd left the animals there and returned to look for Hoss and found –

Nothing.

Joe glanced behind and ahead. He listened, but heard only the wind. It was howling through the tall pines like a hungry wolf. Something was brewing. Most likely a storm. Joe pulled the collar of his gray jacket closer about his throat. There was a cold, clammy mist riding the wind that made a man long for home and hearth – that or his arm around a pretty girl's waist. One of Pa's widowed friends was coming in tonight from back East, bringing his three daughters with him. They were just about the same ages as him, Hoss, and Adam. When he'd asked if the girls were pretty, his father had reminded him first that beauty was only skin deep – and then winked and added that the Jenkins' girls had mighty thick skin.

Joe snorted. One of the great, deep, and powerful wishes of his young life was that he could go back in time and see his pa when he was twenty or so, sailing on the seas, having great adventures, and leaving a string of pretty island girls with broken hearts behind him.

"Wild and misspent youth," the handsome man with curly brown hair snorted.

Dismounting, Joe tethered his horse to a tree and began to walk, searching the ground for signs of his brother's passage. There weren't too many tracks this high in the hills. Not much of anyone came this way other than contrary cattle and the hands looking for them. He knew both his brother's boots and the pitch of Chubb's iron shoes, so it shouldn't be too hard to find them.

The funny thing was, there didn't seem to be any tracks _to_ find.

Puzzled, Joe halted and anchored his hands on his slender hips. He looked about again and then, on a whim, decided to climb to the top of the tall moss-covered rock triangular-shaped tower in front of him and see what he could see. It was a tougher climb than he'd anticipated and he was breathing hard by the time he stepped onto the naturally flat surface. Standing there, with the wind whipping his hair, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called as loudly as he could.

"Hoss! Hoss, it's Joe! Where are you, big brother?"

The words echoed back to him, but there was no reply. Joe listened for a dozen heartbeats and then tried again with the same result.

Up until that moment there had been no shadow of fear found in his lack of a brother. He'd figured Hoss was simply out of earshot. As Joe looked out over the empty expanse before him that suddenly changed and, like the wind that was picking up, his concern increased to a point where it became unpleasant. Joe's stomach lurched as he contemplated for the first time the possibility that something had happened to his brother. The country they were in was unpredictable as a woman, with sharp drops and natural ha-has, as well as a population of dangerous reptiles, animals, and people. The ranch hands had complained recently about an Indian they'd seen wandering around near the lake and believed he was part of a band. Pa thought the man posed no harm and said that, most likely, he and his people were peaceful natives heading for their tribe's lands to the north. Pa said people always panicked when they saw Indians, due to the fact that the wars had gone on so long and so many had lost kin to them. He said as well that the heart had gone out of a lot of the Indians and, sad as it was, they would probably disappear before too long.

Joe shivered. The temperature was dropping and the mist had begun to sting, like it had ice in it. Personally, he'd met both good and bad Indians, the ones who just wanted to live, and the ones filled with so much hate they'd kill a white man soon as look at him. It was always a roll of the dice as to which kind you would find when you were wandering alone on a stretch of land or out hunting something that was lost.

Like he was now.

Joe raised a hand to shield his eyes from the wind and what remained of the sunlight. Dark clouds were rolling in, drawing a curtain of blackness across the early afternoon sky. Shadows filled the hills and valleys, making the land that lay before him appear to rise and fall like dark swells on a violent sea. He called out again, adding a little unspoken prayer to wing the words along.

"Hoss! Hoss, where are you? Can you hear me? _Hoss!"_

This time there was something – an indefinable sound that rose from within the undulating darkness below. It wasn't quite an answer, but there were definite words.

Unfortunately, he couldn't make them out.

"Hoss! You gotta yell. Loud! I can't find you!"

Joe stood on the top of the rocky tower, trembling with the wind and anticipation, waiting. Waiting. Then he heard it. Weak, but it was there.

"Joe..."

Much as he wanted to descend and run into the darkness in search of his brother, Joe held himself in place. "Hoss, I need you to yell again," he called. "There's too many echoes. I don't know where you are!"

"Joe..."

 _That_ gave him a bearing. As the brown-haired man scrambled down the side of the tower it began to rain, making hand and footholds precarious. In the distance there was a flash of lightning and a low long rumble of thunder, heralding the storm that was soon to come. Once on the ground Joe took off running, plunging headlong into the sea of shadows. He _had_ to find Hoss. If his brother was hurt, a thorough soaking was the last thing he needed. Neither of them had come equipped for a storm. They both wore fairly light clothing and, while they had blankets and such, their provisions were back at the camp, which was about a half-hour away by horse.

Joe paused as he came to a running rivulet of water and jumped over it. It must be near three o'clock by now. At home, Pa would be opening the door and looking out every few minutes, wondering where they were. By four the older man would be hopping mad and champing at the bit to come after them. With the storm, it would take him and Adam at least two hours to make the trip.

Two times two equaled four, and four hours was an _awful_ long time for an injured man to be exposed to the elements. On top of that, he didn't know how bad the injury was.

Or _where_ his brother was.

Cupping his hands around his mouth again, Joe called into the wind. "Hoss! Can you hear me?"

"Joe. Down here..."

The brown-haired man frowned. _Here?_ Where was 'here'? And 'down'?

As a boy he and his brothers had played along the lakeside, darting in and out of a series of linked caves that the natives thought were holy and magic. They'd had the most fun entering one and then exiting out another, keeping each other – and their pa – guessing. As a man he'd hunted strays here more times than he could remember. He should have some kind of mental map of the land. Joe closed his eyes. He saw Hoss on Chubb again, rounding the tall stack of rocks he had just left behind, pursuing the steer and heading south into a hilly area slashed by rises and ravines. If his brother _had_ fallen it all depended on whether he had fallen to the left or the right. To the right was a short flat piece of land that led to a fairly sheer drop-off. To the left was a hilly area that contained a shallow gully.

He had to make a choice.

As Joe stood there considering his options, the rain grew in strength and the storm pounced like a mountain cat. The wind struck him so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet even as a hard rain began to fall. At the same instant there was a crack of lightning directly overhead, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Joe felt it rock the land through the soles of his boots. The drop-off was pretty sheer. If Hoss had tumbled over there, the odds were he would have been killed when he struck bottom. That made the gully his best choice.

He only prayed it was the right one.

His boots slipping on the wet ground, Joe began to inch forward, pausing from time to time for the lightning to strike and illuminate the land. From what he remembered the gully wasn't very far away – maybe a hundred feet or so. As he neared the place where he thought it was, he called out again.

"Hoss! Hoss!"

"Here... Keep comin'. I'm...here, Joe."

He was relieved to hear that his brother's voice was not only closer, but stronger.

"Where's here?" he shouted back.

The answer came that he had half-expected and _wholly_ hoped for. "In...the gully...Joe."

He'd reached the edge of it. Joe sat and threw his feet over and waited for the next lightning strike. The light only lasted a second, but was enough to illuminate the figure lying at the bottom of the old stream bed. As he began to scramble down, Joe heard a nicker of fear not that far off. Chubb was out there somewhere. He prayed his brother's horse was smart enough to seek shelter. If he had to get Hoss back to the Ponderosa, he was going to need Chubb. He could only hope the animal didn't spook and run away.

"Hang on, Hoss!" Joe called out as he slipped into the gully, riding the mud to the bottom of the natural ditch. As he landed, the lightning cracked again and the thunder boomed, almost directly overhead.

This time it was so close it made him jump.

"Joe..."

The man with the curly brown hair squinted into the darkness, just making out the white of his brother's sleeve as Hoss raised an arm.

Sliding more than walking, Joe made his way along the bottom of the gully. In the end he found the big man not by sight, but by stubbing the toe of his boot on Hoss's knee. The contact almost pitched him over. Joe managed to catch himself and turn it into a less-than-graceful descent into a seated position at his brother's side.

Hoss was laying there, soaked to the skin and covered with mud, looking at him.

"What...took you so... _dag-burned_ long...little brother?" the big man asked between teeth gritted against pain.

"Well, you know," Joe answered, squinting in the rain, "it was find you or head back to meet the Jenkins girls and, I hate to say it, older brother, but it was a close call."

Hoss snorted and then drew in a sharp breath. " _Dad...blame it_ , Joe. I think...my leg's broke."

Joe waited for another flash of lightning. He winced when it came, but used it to see his brother better. After it had gone, he reached out to touch his leg. "This one?"

Hoss didn't cuss much, but he let out one or two colorful words. "That's it."

Carefully as he could, Joe felt along his brother's leg. "I don't think it's broken," he reassured him. "I don't feel the bone. Maybe it's just sprained."

"Well, it...sure enough... _feels_ like it's broke!"

Joe rose up on his knees and looked around. The bank he had come down wasn't very high, but getting Hoss up it with an injured leg was going to take more than his brother leaning on him for support. The injury would have been a fairly simple thing to deal with – on a warm sunny day, with no wind, or rain, or cold – or mud.

As it was, it was a matter of life and death.

"I gotta get you out of here," he said.

Hoss snorted. "Not meaning...no disrespect, little brother, but...you ain't big enough...or _strong_ enough to get me up that there bank... Not when it's raining mud."

Joe shook his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I told Hop Sing he shoulda stopped feeding you when you were fifteen. I could've picked you up then."

"You was nine and nigh on the size of a jack rabbit. You couldn't have got me from the settee to the table!"

"Not then, now – _now_ I could've picked you up when you were fifteen." The brown-haired man scowled. "Did you break your head as well as your leg when you fell?"

Hoss made a disgruntled noise. "I was...twice your size at...fifteen, little brother."

"See," Joe said as he began to explore the gully's wall with his hands. "He shoulda stopped feeding you. What'd I say?"

"Joe...what are you...doing?"

Hoss was putting up a brave front, but his voice was weakening. Joe paused with his hands buried in mud. "I heard Chubb nearby. I'm gonna go find him. He can pull you out."

"Joe...he's gonna be spooked. He...could kill ya!"

Raising a hand, Joe shoved the sodden brown curls back from his forehead. All he succeeded in doing was replacing the rainwater with mud. He thought of another rejoinder, but worry stopped it before it came out of his mouth. "Hoss," he said, all business, "I gotta get you out of the rain."

"Joe..."

His temper flared. "If the boot was on the other foot and it was _me_ laying here all busted up, what do you think _you'd_ do, big brother?"

"That ain't...fair, Joe," his brother said softly.

"Yeah, well, life _ain't_ fair, is it?" he snapped as he pressed the toe of his boot into the muddy wall. "Now, you stay put, you hear? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Hoss was still protesting, but Joe ignored him. There was a danger in going after the horse, but it was less of a danger than leaving Hoss, injured, laying in two inches of water at the bottom of the gully. He had to get his brother somewhere dry and warm as soon as possible. The big man was probably already in shock.

The worst could be yet to come.

It took Joe a good five minutes to make his way out of the shallow gully. He started up the mud wall and fell back to the bottom a half-dozen times before he made it to the top. The wind and the rain had not lessened, but had intensified as the storm moved overhead. It was hard to see and harder to move, but he pressed on in the direction Chubb's frightened snort had come from. Another strike of lightning revealed the animal. The thoroughbred's reins had become caught in the outstretched branches of a straggly bush. The horse squealed and strained against the leads, his eyes wide and wild. Joe started to talk to him as he approached, assuring Chubb that he was okay, that the lightning couldn't hurt him, and that Hoss needed him. His brother's horse knew his voice and it had a calming effect – until the next strike of lightning.

Chubb reared up and struck out at him, his hooves dealing death if they made contact. Joe sidestepped and slipped and found himself at the bottom of a rise face down in the mud. Righting himself, he freed the viscous stuff from his airways and worked his way back up to the top. Chubb was still there. The horse took one look at him and backed away as if he was the devil himself. Joe began to talk again, soothingly, gently, reaching for the reins as he did, hoping to snare the animal before it struck out again or bolted, breaking the reins that held it to the bush.

Joe had just about managed to catch the bridle near the bit when something happened that caused him to look up. The dark day had gone black as coal. A rush of air struck him, carrying with it an odd nauseating stench. He heard something – a hiss and a snort – and then found himself on the ground looking up. A shadow loomed above him, blocking the sky. From its depths came twin flashes of light. As Chubb screamed and broke free of the bush, Joe scrambled backward. Pressing into the crevice between two rocks, he tried to make himself as small as possible. For several seconds the shadow hung there above him, as if whatever it was sought to commune with him, and then it rose and became one with the pendulous clouds.

Joe didn't move for several hard-pounding seconds. Then he shook himself and rose unsteadily to his feet. The scent of something burning lingered in the air, telling him he hadn't fallen and cracked his head and _dreamed_ what he had seen. It had been real.

But what _had_ he seen?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright paced the ground before the ranch house, wearing the rut thirty years of raising three headstrong sons had created even deeper. It was quarter after four in the afternoon and there was no sign of Hoss or Joe, and while Joseph had a reputation for running late, his middle son was usually more responsible.

It was a fact that had softened his 'mad' into 'worry'.

"Any sign, Pa?" Adam asked as he stepped off of the porch and joined him.

The older man stopped pacing. "No."

As his eldest drew alongside him, he noted his frown. Adam indicated the area to the south of the house with a nod. "Seems awfully dark. Could be a storm came up and Joe and Hoss had to take shelter."

There had been a hint of rain in the air earlier, but it had moved on leaving the land dry. Still, he knew from experience that had nothing to do with the weather ten, or even _one_ mile away. The boys were near the lake and it had a tendency to attract storms – some of them vicious.

"I see it," he said.

Adam's brows peaked toward his black hair. "But you don't think _that's_ what's holding them up?"

It was hard to explain. Hoss at twenty-six and Joe at nearly twenty, were grown men. He'd taught them well, pounding common sense and survival skills into both from the time they could walk. Hoss was ferocious in his protectiveness of and love for his younger sibling. Joe, on the other hand, loved and looked up to his gentle giant of a brother all while thinking that Hoss was not quite a sharp as him and needed taking care of. Neither of them would let anything happen to the other one – if they could help it. That was why he often sent them out together. Usually, when they _were_ together he could relax and let his guard down just a bit.

But not today.

He had remained quiet so long, Adam suggested gently, "Parent's intuition?"

Ben pursed his lips and nodded. "Something like that."

"I'll saddle up Sport and head out."

"Thank you, Adam. I wish I could come with you, but – "

"Someone's got to be here when the Jenkins arrive," Adam smiled.

"Those poor girls," Ben mused. "Expecting to find three handsome young men here waiting to fight over them, when all they're going to get is one tired and worried old man."

"You've still got a few good years in you, Pa," Adam said with a grin. "Who knows, maybe one of Gil's girls likes older men."

Ben scoffed and shook his head. Then he dismissed his son with a wave. "You better get going."

Adam glanced at the sky again down toward the lake where his brothers were. It was even blacker.

"Those two are going to _owe_ me, ending the day drowned as a rat looking for them instead of sitting by the fire sipping brandy and visiting with a trio of beauties."

The older man looked at the darkening sky as well. There were flashes of lightning now and he could hear distant thunder.

"It's a debt I'm sure they will be happy to pay."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As soon as he stopped shaking, Joe headed for his own horse since Chubb had bolted. Cochise was farther back along the path he had taken and up what was now a slippery, muddy hill, but he had no choice. He had to get Hoss out of the gully and, never minding his bravado, there was no _way_ he could lift his middle brother out on his own.

As he fought his way forward, facing into the wind and driving rain, Joe thought about what had just happened. If he hadn't known better, he'd think _he_ was the one at the bottom of the gully and was out of his head with pain and seeing things. But he _did_ know better. There had been something there, hanging in the sky over his head, blocking out what was left of the sun – something looking directly at him. The stench of it still clung to his clothes and smelled somewhere in-between pitch and sulfur. Every so often he glanced up, expecting to see it again. When he didn't, he assured himself it couldn't have been real.

Then he'd look again.

It took near half an hour to reach Cochise. The horse was snorting and squealing, but was still tethered where he'd left him. The Paint actually calmed down when he heard his voice and didn't fight him as he freed the reins from the branches and began to lead him forward. It was still storming, but the fury of the tempest had passed from raging to plain old angry. The lightning and thunder had moved on and the dark clouds that bred them were hanging over the lake.

As he approached the place where he'd left Hoss, he heard his brother calling his name. Joe tried to quicken his pace, but it was impossible. All he could do was slog through the mud until he got there. After tethering Cochise to a tree, he leaned over the side and shouted.

"Hoss! I'm here!"

His older brother's face shone pale and wan in the veiled sunlight that was beginning to peek through the clouds. " _Tarnation_ , Joe! I thought...you was...dead."

"Sorry. Chubb ran away. I had to get Cochise." He straightened up. "I'll get the rope off the saddle and be down in a minute."

Cochise was a little skittish when he approached. Joe wondered why since the animal hadn't been before. Taking the rope off of the saddle, he looped it over his shoulder and then broke a couple of sturdy branches off of the tree to take with him in order to fashion a makeshift splint for his brother's leg. Moving Hoss without one was probably not wise.

With both in hand, Joe slid over the edge and into the gully.

His boots splashed when he hit bottom, which was not what he wanted to hear. It meant Hoss was laying in more water. Crossing over to the big man, he knelt by his side and placed his hand on his brother's shoulder.

Hoss was shaking.

Sitting in the muck, Joe began to work on the splint. "You all right?" he asked as he placed a branch to each side of his brother's injured leg.

"I been a...sight better," Hoss confessed.

The fact that Hoss made no attempt at humor increased Joe's concern. When he had completed the splint, he caught the rope up from the ground. "Well, you just lay there, big brother, and don't you worry about a thing. I'll get the rope tied around you and get you out of here in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

As he set to work again, Joe watched his brother closely. Hoss hadn't said much as he moved his wounded leg, laying the branches alongside it and wrapping it with scraps of cloth taken from the tail of his shirt. It seemed to him that his brother was weakening. Concerned, he moved as quickly as he could to tie the rope around the big man's chest and secure it under his arms. Then Joe scrambled back up the slope. At the top he looked around for a suitable anchor and ended up winding the rope around a thick tree trunk before tying it to Cochise's saddle horn. Once that was done he went back to the edge of the gully and called down.

"Brace yourself, Hoss! Cochise is gonna start hauling you up!"

There was no reply.

Joe peered into the darkness and then decided that getting Hoss out of the gully was more important than going back down to find out if he was conscious. Returning to Cochise, he began to slowly back the animal up. His horse protested as the weight increased, but Joe spoke to him softly, telling him he was a _good_ _boy_ and that he needed him and that there would be a reward at the end for his hard work.

Slowly, ever _so_ slowly, Hoss began to rise out of the gully.

It took several minutes before his brother's head crested over the edge. Joe walked back a few more feet, making sure Hoss' large form was on firm ground before he dropped the reins and ran over to him.

"Hoss?" he prodded as he gripped his brother's collar and pulled him further out of the gully. "Hoss? Can you hear me?"

The big man was unconscious.

Joe swallowed over a lump the size of Texas in his throat. He _had_ to get Hoss out of the rain and to some place dry. Those childhood caves were here. He just didn't know exactly _where._ For a moment he stood over his brother's quiet form, looking in every direction, trying to recall paths taken more than a decade before. Unbidden, a wave of hopelessness washed over him, nearly unmanning him. He wasn't normally prone to panic, but that was when his own life was in danger. This was different.

This was _Hoss._

Coming to a decision, Joe crossed over to his brother and released him from the rope. Then he locked his arms around the big man's chest and began to pull. If nothing else, at least he'd get him secured behind some boulders or in a clump of trees. _Anything_ had to be better than him laying out in the open.

Hoss was a large man and it was all Joe could do to move him what with the mud clinging to his clothes and his brother being dead weight. He fell several times while doing so. Determined, he persevered, shivering himself and staggering with fatigue, but unwilling to stop until at last they arrived at a sort of natural arch. It wasn't much, but he pulled Hoss under it and then fell down beside him and sat there numb and unable for the moment to go on.

It was then he heard it again. The sound of wings flapping. Joe looked, but saw nothing this time – well, no, there _was_ something. Not a giant bird but a man. Whoever it was emerged from the shadows and falling rain and came to rest before him.

Joe blinked away mud and sweat. Night had fallen and it was hard to see, but he thought the stranger was an Indian. At least the rain-washed figure seemed to be wearing buckskins and beads.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The native stared at him, unmoving, for several seconds. Then he turned and pointed toward the lake. When Joe didn't respond, the man approached and took him by the shoulder. Shaking him, he urged him to rise and follow.

Joe shook his head. "I can't. I won't leave my brother. He's hurt."

The native knelt by Hoss' side, whispering a few words as he touched his forehead. His brother stirred in response and, while he was groggy, came awake. Then, to Joe's surprise, the stranger took hold of one of Hoss' arms and, with a nod, indicated he should do the same. Joe didn't argue. Together he and the Indian lifted Hoss from the ground.

Before they began to move, he told his horse, "Cooch, you stay put. I'll be back."

It took them a good ten minutes to cover about a hundred feet of ground. At the end of the long walk was a cave and, thank God, within it, a blazing fire. Along with the native, he carried Hoss in and placed him beside it. There were several blankets laying there that he grabbed and wrapped around his brother's large frame before turning to thank the Indian.

Who was gone.

Joe blinked, confused. He ran a short distance to the cave mouth and out into the night. Standing in the pouring rain, he looked in every direction. It was no use.

Their rescuer had vanished.

Returning to the cave, Joe went to his brother's side and knelt by him. He noted Hoss was unconscious again. A sheen of sweat covered his full face and his skin was hot to the touch. In spite of that, the big man was shivering. Somewhere beyond exhausted himself, Joe began to pull his wet clothes off but found, all too quickly, that he didn't have the strength to complete the task. Instead he laid down beside Hoss and pressed his back up against his brother in what was probably a futile effort to lend him warmth.

In truth, he barely had enough for himself.

Joe turned his face toward the cave mouth. He lay there, teeth chattering, wondering who the native was who had brought them here and where he had come from. He thought too about what he had seen up there in the sky, considering what it could have been that had blotted out most of it. He did all of this to keep his mind busy, so he wouldn't fall asleep in case Hoss needed him.

Joe needn't have worried about falling asleep.

He passed out instead.

TWO

A mile or two shy of the area where his brothers had been chasing strays, Adam gave up and decided to wait out the storm. The strong winds, the driving rain, and the blackness of the falling night had made any kind of search impossible. He'd found the temporary corral their ranch hands had erected the week before with several cattle in it, which confirmed his suspicions that thiswas the route Joe and Hoss had taken. When he saw no sign of recent occupation at the camp they'd erected, he hadn't been too concerned. He figured the two of them had holed up somewhere in the hills to wait out the bad weather.

That changed when he found Chubb.

Adam had taken shelter himself in a deep depression in the rocks close by his brothers' camp. He looked out of it now through the pounding rain at Hoss' horse, which he had tethered in a clump of trees nearby. The fiercest part of the storm had passed but the animal was still skittish. Tossing his coffee onto the small fire he had kindled at the back of the crevice, Adam made sure it was out and then crossed over to Chubb. He stood for a moment, soothing the animal, speaking kind words to him and offering him a treat. As he patted the horse's wet neck and rubbed his nose, the black-haired man permitted himself a momentary diversion. He imagined himself asking Chubb where Joe and Hoss had gone.

"Well, boy," he said a moment later, "since you are not much of a conversationalist, I suppose I will just have to go out and look for those two myself."

After making sure Chubb was securely tethered, Adam returned to the crevice to gather his things. Once he had, he mounted Sport and turned the animal's nose toward the south. He sat there, thinking, considering his next move. The storm had been ferocious. It was unlikely there would be any tracks left to find. That was all right. He'd worked this land before and knew the common pathways across it. The problem was, there were a _half-dozen_ paths and he had no way of knowing which one Joe and Hoss had chosen. Adam worked his lower lip for a moment with his teeth. Since it was Hoss _and_ Joe, knowing his little brother he had taken the lead – whether Hoss agreed or not – and that meant the pair had probably taken the path _least_ traveled and the _most_ dangerous. That one would take them close to the lake and the myriad caves located there, as well as into a rocky country that undulated like a snake rolling over sand. On one hand, the presence of the caves meant they could have easily found shelter. He might well find the two of them sitting pretty, drinking coffee and chewing jerky, ready and raring for the new day to come. On the other hand the land around the caves, irregular as it was, presented an unending possibility of missteps. If Chubb had spooked Hoss could well be laying somewhere out in the open, or in a gully or ravine that could hold enough water to drown a man.

Coming to a decision, Adam pressed his heels into Sport's side. "Come on, boy," he said, clicking his tongue and shaking the horse's reins to indicate they needed to move. "Let's see what Joe's gotten himself and Hoss into this time."

"Ben?"

Ben Cartwright stirred and looked back toward the ranch house. His old friend Gilchrist Jenkins was just stepping out of the front door. It was early morning and he was a bit surprised to see the other man up. After they'd finished supper with Gil's three charming girls and sent them off to bed, he and his old friend had remained in the Great Room and talked until the night turned into day. When Gil asked, he had tried to make light of his three missing sons, explaining that the range was a harsh mistress and often demanded a man's time and full attention. The boys would be back in the morning, he assured his friend and his three girls. He'd told himself the same thing.

They weren't back.

As Gil came abreast where he sat in the chair on the porch, he started to rise. "Did you get some of that fresh coffee Hop Sing left on the table?" he asked him as he did.

Gil laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't get up, Ben." As he took a seat on the table beside him, his friend looked him in the eye. "Tell me what's on your mind – and don't give me any of this nonsense about your not being worried."

Ben smiled. "I never could keep anything from you."

Gil, who was a few years younger than him and who still retained his dark brown hair, though it was liberally peppered with silver, smiled back and answered in his charming Scottish accent, "That's what you get for choosing an Army man as a friend."

He nodded. "That was long ago."

"When we were young and foolish." Gil looked out over the yard and beyond it to the wide open spaces surrounding the ranch. "It's like an untamed beauty, Nevada, and in some ways not unlike the Hebrides. That storm last night was a wicked one. I imagine you are worried one or all of the them was caught in it."

Ben rose to his feet. He stepped off the porch and looked to the south where he knew his boys had gone. "They're men, Gil. They can take care of themselves – in ordinary circumstances."

"I'm not saying otherwise, it's just that the storm last night was anything but 'ordinary'. I've been a city slicker so long now, I'd forgotten how violent one can be as it moves over the wide open spaces."

The silver-haired man pursed his lips and blew his concern out in a sigh. "I have to admit _that_ has me worried. Though I am probably borrowing trouble like a woman. Most likely Adam holed up in a cave somewhere to pass the night and he'll find Joe and Hoss did the same thing."

"'Borrowing trouble like a woman'," his old friend snorted. "I know you've been married before, Ben, but you really can't know anything about women _or_ trouble until you've reared three girls!" Gil shook his head. "And I thought dealing with the Mexicans was tough."

He and Gil had met back in his army days. The Scotsman had been a surgeon's assistant then. Unlike him, his friend remained in the service, becoming a full doctor and serving in the Mexican War. It was at that time that he met and fell in love with a stunning English woman named Lydia. Eventually he left the army and opened a practice. He and Lydia had three beautiful girls in eight years, and from Gil's letters everything seemed to be as near to perfect as life in this imperfect world could get.

Then Lydia died.

Gil returned to Scotland then and lived there for a few years, but in time decided to pull up stakes and return to the States where he set up a medical practice. His old friend chose to live in the East so his girls could attend some of the nation's finest schools. Gil had been in Philadelphia now for something over ten years. They'd kept up a correspondence throughout it all and had met a few times – once when he traveled back East on business – but this was the first opportunity they had had to spend any length of time together.

Ben clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll have plenty of time to trade war stories, old friend. Though the battles may be different, I'll match my three boys against your three girls for trouble any day!"

"And for treasure," Gil said softly.

The silver-haired man opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the door to the house opened and a lithe form wrapped in rose-colored silk emerged.

"Papa. _There_ you are!"

It was Gil's eldest. Ainslee was a ray of sunshine on a rainy morning. She looked like her late mother, with brilliant blue eyes, skin white as milk, and hair golden as a stalk of wheat at harvest time. Like her father, Ainslee was tall – just about as tall as Joe, actually. She was small-boned too and thin as a reed though, from what her father said, that reed was made of _steel_. After her mother's death Ainslee, though only thirteen at the time, had become the mistress of her father's house. She was just about Hoss' age now.

Gil crossed over to her and took her by the hand and then leaned in to plant a kiss on his daughter's rosy cheek. "Good morning, Aine."

"I hope you slept well," Ben said as he went to join them.

Ainslee, like her father and sister's, had a Scottish lilt. She answered in her charming low voice. "That is a feather bed such as I have never known, Mister Cartwright!" she replied. "Not even in Scotland where the geese are fat and sassy."

"These are _Nevada_ goose feathers," Ben teased. "Everything in the states is fatter _and_ sassier."

The young woman smiled. "Even the men?" she countered.

"Ah, you see where her mind turns?" Gil sighed. "And so early in the morning."

Ainslee smiled at her father and then sobered. "I went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Hop Sing seems quite worried about your sons."

Ben dismissed it. "Hop Sing always worries." He glanced at Gil. "He's been my able lieutenant in all the wars," he said with a smile.

"Aine! There you are."

Ben looked beyond the pair to see Gil's middle daughter stepping through the open door. Her name was Deirdre. She was as dark as her sister was light, taking after her father, with near black hair but the same pale skin and blue eyes. Deid, as the family called her, was as boisterous as her sister was restrained. From what he remembered of their mother, it had been Lydia who shared this personality. Gil had always been a fairly quiet man.

"Where's Fiona?" Ainslee asked as her sister blew out of the house in a lovely dress of dark green cloth, the color of the hills of their father's native land.

Deirdre shrugged. "Still abed. Where else?"

"It seems our youngests have something in common, if I remember right from your letters," Gil mused.

The comment turned Ben's mind back to Joe and Hoss...and Adam.

All three of whom were _still_ missing.

Gil noted his silence. "Would you like me to ride out with you, Ben, to look for your boys?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Hop Sing will never forgive me if I make you miss that fine breakfast he's preparing." He looked at the pair of girls. "Now, you two – along with your sister – have to promise to eat as much as my boys, otherwise Hop Sing will go on strike and you'll have to eat _my_ cooking!"

"Or you, ours," Deirdre answered with a dazzling smile.

"The girls are amazing cooks, Ben. Maybe some night we can treat you _and_ Hop Sing." Gil made a shooing motion with his hands. "Now you girls go in and wake you sister. When she's ready, come back down. I'll meet you at the table."

With a small curtsey both girls turned – well, Deirdre whirled – and went back into the house.

Gil remained behind, staring hard at him. His dark brows rose, asking the question. "The truth, Ben," his friend demanded.

The silver-haired man drew a deep breath and held it. If he said it aloud, he had to finally admit it to himself.

"Gil, I'm _worried_. Something's wrong."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe swam up through of a hazy sea of pain and fatigue. It seemed he'd done it before, but he wasn't sure. If he had, it hadn't lasted. He had to squint his eyes, which meant the night was over and the sun was up, even though the light filtering in through the cave mouth was pale and puny as if the rain hadn't quite moved on. Shifting, Joe stifled a groan as he righted himself. It was then he felt his brother's form pressed up against his own and everything that had happened the night before piled in on top of him like a load of hay tossed into the bed of a wagon. He pivoted to look at Hoss. His brother's chest was rising and falling; his breathing rapid and shallow. Hoss' coloring was bad. Joe shifted, intending to rise, and then looked down.

Half of his clothes were missing. He still had his pants on but his chest was bare.

Puzzled, he remained on his knees, blinking and frowning. It was during this time that he noticed the scent of smoke. Joe remembered the fire the native had kindled the night before, but it _couldn't_ still be burning – and yet, there it was, blazing away in a corner, warming the cave and drying his dark gray jacket and light gray shirt that were slung over a rack nearby. Hoss's white shirt was there too and his vest, and even what was left of his ruined brown pants. All the clothes had been brushed clean of mud as much as possible. Turning back to his brother, Joe peeled the blankets back just a bit.

Yep, Hoss was close to buck-naked inside the cocoon of thick wool that was three or four covers deep.

Curious, Joe stood up – and nearly tumbled right back down. He was startled to find just _how_ worn out he was. Of course, there had been the physical strain of pulling his brother out of the gully – and the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since noon the day before. Adding worry for his big brother to all of that, he guessed that was enough to make a man weak in the knees. Joe remained still for a minute, letting his body find a level, and then moved slowly toward the fire. The warmth radiating from it, striking his chilled skin, was as delicious as anything Hop Sing had ever cooked. Even though it had been a warm September, the rain of the night before seemed to have ushered a cold October in. Joe glanced back at his brother and then at the cave mouth. Whoever had helped them – and he supposed it was the Indian – was gone.

It was up to him now to save them.

Reaching out, Joe caught his dry shirt from the rack and pulled it on, relishing the added warmth it lent him. His pants and boots were still wet, so it helped to stave off the chill. His jacket did even more as it was a thick fabric and retained the heat longer than his thin cotton shirt. Crossing back over to Hoss, he knelt and touched his brother's shoulder and called him gently.

"Hoss. _Hoss._ Hey big brother, can you hear me?"

For a moment there was nothing. Then he moaned.

"Hoss?"

One of the big man's bright blue eyes opened. "What horse...done...fell on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joe stifled his sigh of relief. He didn't want Hoss to know how worried he'd been – and _still_ was. "It didn't fall on you, you big ox. _You_ fell off of it – at least I think that's what happened."

The eye closed. For a moment he thought his brother had lost consciousness again. Then both of Hoss' eyes opened with better focus. "There was this strong wind...something passed overhead. Chubb smelled something...scared him..." Hoss drew a rough breath. "Something like...sulfur..."

He stiffened. "Sulfur?"

"Yeah...funny...ain't it? He done reared up and...tossed me off." Hoss' eyes closed in concentration. "I...got me...a broken leg, don't I...little brother?"

"Nothing's poking through the skin if that makes you feel any better," he answered.

Hoss looked at him. "Sorry to say...it don't."

Joe patted him on the shoulder and rose to his feet.

His middle brother's eyes followed him. "If..you don't look like a pup...come fresh out of...a mud bath."

Joe hadn't thought about it. Whoever had cleaned their clothes had _not_ cleaned them. His arms and chest were covered in dried mud and, now that Hoss mentioned it, he could feel it caking the skin around his eyes and nose. Wrinkling the later, Joe tried to break free of some of it.

"I'll get a mirror," Joe said. "You look worse."

Hoss snorted. "How...much trouble are...we in, Joe?"

Well...

There were a half-dozen trails blazed through the land where they'd been chasing strays. No one knew which one they'd taken. Most if not all of their tracks would have washed away with the rain. Both Cochise and Chubb were probably halfway home by now. Hoss was injured, so badly Joe doubted his brother could sit a horse, so that meant he would have to rig a travois to transport him – which would be nigh onto impossible without one of the horses to pull it. He _might_ be able to drag Hoss once the ground dried out, but that meant waiting for the sun to do its work and from the look of his brother – though the big man was putting on a brave front – that wasn't something he wanted to do.

 _Thank God_ for the man who had rescued them from the storm. Without him, he wasn't sure Hoss would have made it. The big man would probably be wracked with fever right now as infection set in.

It still could. That's why they had to go.

He ran a hand over his face, brushing off some of the dried mud, and then knelt again by his brother.

"Trouble? You call this trouble? This ain't _nothing_." Joe grinned. "You and me, we've been in worse spots before. It'll come out all right."

Hoss frowned at him. "Yeah, but...them times it was.. _.you_ laying here on the...ground, and _me_ up there...where you are."

Joe patted him on the shoulder. "Much as it pains me to say this, older brother, you're _more_ than making up for all the trouble I've caused you." He paused. "You gonna be okay while I'm away?"

"Where you...going, Joe?"

He rose again. "First I gotta find one of the horses if they're still around. Then, I gotta get us some grub. Then, I gotta figure out how to get your carcass back to the ranch."

"You just...go. You can...bring a wagon back."

To find a dead brother? He thought not. "I thought I'd test my survival skills," he said as he turned toward the cave mouth, "you know, build me a travois."

"Joe... _dad-blame it!_ You cain't...haul me all the way...back to the Ponderosa. You ain't... _strong_ enough." Hoss was stirring, trying to sit up. "I can tell by lookin' at you. It'll _kill_ you!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Joe was at his side in a minute. "Don't you try to get up!"

"I will if you...walk out of this...cave. You hear me?" the big man warned.

Joe wrinkled his nose. He stood for a second at his brother's side and then walked over and pulled Hoss' shirt, vest, and pants from the rack. Returning with them, he held them out for his brother to see. "I'd think twice about that if I were you. Without these, you're gonna look mighty funny when those blankets fall away."

Faster than he thought possible, Hoss' hand shot out. It almost caught him.

Almost.

"Joe, you hand those over!"

"I think I'll just take them with me," he said with a wink as he headed for the cave mouth. "You know how _older_ brothers are.

"You just can't trust them to do what they're told."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On a high rise, within a brace of trees and silhouetted against the rising sun, stood a frail, bent but unbroken figure. The old man had deeply tanned skin and white hair, and was dressed in buckskins as had been his custom from his younger days when he walked the pastures and prairies east of the Mississippi. Twenty-five years before, as the white man counted them, he had been a healer and followed the white path among the Shawanoes. He had a family. A wife. Children. They were dead now.

And it was his fault.

Though they were gone from the world, they were with him still. They walked the land, never leaving his side. He saw them in his dreams and, sometimes, with his waking eyes as he had on the day when he found the injured man and the one Nenimkee had chosen who fought so hard to save him. His sons had come, showing him the way.

The white men did not look like brothers, but he knew that was what they were, just as Red Leaf and Yellow Bear were brothers.

 _Blood_ brothers.

The young slender pale face with the curly brown hair was full of thunder and fire. He burned so brightly even the storm could not put out the flame. It was fitting that he had been the one to encounter Nenimkee. The great spirit had called out and the fiery one answered.

Now, justice would be done.

The old man turned his face toward the south and looked at the lake beside which Nenimkee's home lay. The rising sun painted it's surface red as blood. Its waters were still now. Later, as the light faded and this new day drew to a close, the spirit bird would rise once again to soar across the sky. Nenimkee was restless. His anger, great. The cry for justice had awakened him and called him to punish those responsible.

Leaving the vision of the lake behind, the Shawanoe wise man began his descent. He could not put his full weight on the leg the white man's bullet had torn through long ago and so his journey was slow and painful. When he reached the bottom, he paused to catch his breath. As he waited, he heard in the distance the voice of a man calling out a name. 'Joe', he called as if his life depended on it. "Joe!"

'Joe' was the fiery one. In time Nenimkee would call him as well.

In time, they would meet again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Joe? Joe!"

Adam opened his canteen and took a swig from it, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was standing on the flat surface of a rocky tower on the top of a low rise, looking out over a broken landscape of rocks and gorse. With the dawning of the day had come an end to the storm. A pale light washed the rocky ridges and hills before him. So far it had done him little good. He had seen nothing of his brothers. Of course, that in itself _could_ be a good thing. It could mean that Hoss and Joe had found shelter in one of the caves by the lake and holed up there to pass the storm. As he stood there, scanning right and left, Adam thought about his brothers and the love they all possessed for one another and the harsh land they occupied. Perhaps it was that very risk of daily death that made their love so fierce.

All it would take was a mistake and in the space of a heartbeat, one of them could be gone.

"And on _that_ cheery note," Adam snorted as he capped the canteen and slung it over his shoulder. A second later, cupping his hands around his mouth, the black-haired man called out again.

"Joe! Hoss! Are you here?" He waited. "Joe...Hoss?"

The black-haired man didn't really see anything, but he had a sense of movement in the near distance – as if someone he had _just_ missed seeing had slipped out of sight. Adam narrowed his eyes as his hand went to the gun anchored on his hip.

"Joe? Hoss?" he called again, though why either of them would have chosen to move _out_ of sight was beyond him.

It was no more than three seconds later that a bone-thin figure appeared a little ways below him, standing close by a tall stack of rocks. The morning light was vague at best and mist moved through the gullies in the land before him, but from what Adam could see it was a man and the man was an Indian. At first fear struck him as he thought of all of the possible scenarios that might have placed a warrior in the same space as his brothers, but then he realized – though the native might have been a warrior _once_ upon a time – warfare and glory-seeking were far behind him. Even though the morning mist impaired his vision, he could tell the man was _old._ The native's hair was snow white and his back was bent with age. In one hand the old man held a staff topped with feathers. On his head was a fur cap. Adam had been with his pa often enough when he visited the Indian villages to know that both of these were sigils of the office of a medicine man or peace chief.

As he continued to study the native, the man in black became aware that the Indian was studying _him_. The man lifted a hand to beckon him and then disappeared around the pile rocks. Adam frowned. There was no reason to think that the man or his gesture had anything to do with him _or_ his missing brothers.

So why was he sure that they did?

Scrambling down from his rocky perch, Adam crossed to his horse, mounted, and then headed in the direction the Indian had taken. It took him ten minutes or so to find safe footing for the animal and to work his way down to the base of the rise. Once there he dismounted and, leading his horse by the reins, first located the pile of rocks he had seen the native standing by and then followed in his footsteps.

Of course he drew his pistol before he did.

On the other side, tucked into a crevice with a blanket tossed over him, was Joe. Beside him on the ground, tied to a crude travois that had obviously been hastily fashioned, lay Hoss. Adam glanced about for the Indian. When he failed to find him, he advanced cautiously toward his brothers. He checked Hoss first and was relieved to find him breathing – even if that breathing was ragged and showed he was obviously in pain. Crossing to Joe, Adam knelt and considered the best way to wake him. Joe's pearl-handled pistol was on his hip and his hand was resting on it. His brother was a quick draw and he had no desire to find himself on the wrong end his gun.

Standing to the side, Adam said softly, "Joe. It's Adam. Joe, wake up."

Nothing. So much for caution.

Bending over he reached out and touched his brother's shoulder. "Joe?"

The brown-haired man was off the ground in a shot, his hand gripping the pistol. The look out of Joe's green eyes was wild and fiercely protective.

"Joe. Joe! It's me. Adam." He paused. "It's Adam. _Joe!"_

His brother blinked and it seemed everything came into focus. Joe looked at him and _saw_ him and then seemed to melt.

"Adam..." he breathed even as he swayed.

He caught him and lowered him to the ground. "Joe. Are you okay?"

His brother ignored that. "Hoss. Adam, you gotta help Hoss. He's _hurt."_

Adam glanced at his middle brother and back. "I can see that," he sighed. Frowning, he examined the younger one in front of him. Joe was covered in mud from head to toe though, oddly, his shirt and jacket were fairly clean. His curly brown hair was matted with, not only mud and leaves but bracken, and there were various small cuts and bruises on his exposed skin. Most of all, though, he looked exhausted.

"You don't look so good yourself," he said, reaching toward him.

"I'm fine!" Joe insisted, shoving his hand away and attempting to rise. "We gotta get Hoss out of here. He needs a doctor."

"Yes, he does. So do you."

Joe was on his feet again. "I don't need any..." he began and then, abruptly, went white as a sheet. His brother's green eyes met his hazel ones and then he was headed for the ground.

Adam caught his arms and lowered him to it. "What do I always tell you, Joe? Older brother knows best."

"But Hoss..."

"You stay here." Adam held his brother's gaze. "Stay here. I _mean_ it."

Pivoting on his heel, the black-haired man went to his middle brother's side and knelt to examine him. Hoss was wearing his battered pants and shirt and the same coat of mud as Joe, as well as sharing many of the same cuts and bruises. The big man also had an injured leg that had been efficiently splinted with two pieces of wood wound about with young willow branches. Adam felt his brother's forehead. Hoss had a fever, but it was mild. As he continued his examination, he found a few odd things tucked into the creases of his clothing – tiny feathers, ash, and bits of bark.

Adam turned back to Joe, who was sitting with his head in his hands. "Joe, did you do this?"

His brother's curly brown head came up. "What?"

"Splint Hoss' leg with willow branches?"

Joe rose shakily and came to his side. Dropping on the ground beside Hoss, he said, "I used a couple of broken branches and strips of my shirt to bind it." He indicated the current splint with a nod. "That's not my doing."

It was as he suspected. "I saw an old Indian. In fact, he led me to you. He must have done it." He looked at Joe. "Did you see him too?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly, "he saved us." His brother's eyes sought his. In them was a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "He just showed up Adam, about the same time as..."

"The same time as what?"

Joe had that look – the ornery little boy one that meant he was _definitely_ keeping something back. "The same time as Cochise bolted. Say, did you see him?"

Adam played along. "No, but I have Chubb. Cochise is probably back at the ranch by now."

"I came looking for him so he could pull the travois," his brother said wearily.

Suddenly he understood. " _You_ were pulling Hoss by hand? Through _this_ landscape?"

Joe shrugged as if it was no big deal.

Adam eyed his baby brother – all one hundred and thirty-odd pounds of him – and then looked at Hoss who weighed more than half-again that much _and_ was, at the moment, dead weight.

No wonder Joe was exhausted.

The black-haired man shook his head. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. " _Determined_ doesn't begin to describe you, does it?"

Joe grinned. "I think you can add plumb tuckered out to that."

Adam let his hand remain a moment longer and then lifted it and rose to his feet.

"Well, we have Chubb _and_ Sport now. Let's get the travois hitched up and get the two of you home."

THREE

Ben Cartwright tugged on the strap that held Buck's saddle in place, making certain it was secure. He paused with his hand on the smooth leather and looked toward the stable. Around noon Joseph's horse, covered with mud and stung by needles and brambles, had come into the yard alone. That made his decision.

His sons had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours and he was going to find them.

As he finished buckling the strap, the older man heard a noise. Leaving Buck, he crossed to the center of the yard and waited. He had already assembled and sent out a half-dozen men. They were headed for the area around the lake where Joe and Hoss had gone, and had been instructed to begin the search. He imagined it was one of them coming back for more instructions.

He imagined wrong.

The small entourage that came around the corner of the stable was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. A weary Adam was in the lead, riding Sport. Behind him came a muddy and bedraggled Joseph, mounted on Chubb. There was a travois hitched to the back of his middle son's horse and someone laying on it.

Instantly alert, the older man rushed to their side.

"Adam?"

"It's Hoss, Pa," Adam said as he dismounted. "He's hurt."

Ben glanced up at Joe where he sat on his brother's horse. His youngest was wan and weary and swaying in the saddle. He placed a hand on his leg and asked, "What about you, son?"

Joe's answer was a pale imitation of his usual smile and a quiet, "I'm okay, Pa."

Looking at the boy, he seriously doubted that.

"Adam, see to Joe," the older man ordered as he knelt beside the travois. "And send one of the men for the doctor."

"We ran into the ranch hands that were heading out for the lake on the road, Pa," his eldest replied. "I already sent one for Doc Martin."

Ben was checking his middle son's pulse. It was fairly strong, though not as strong as he would have liked. As his hand touched Hoss', the big man stirred. His son winced and then his eyes opened and he looked at him.

"If you ain't...a sight for _sore_ eyes, Pa," he breathed.

Ben glanced at Joe, who had left the saddle and was standing beside Chubb talking quietly to Adam, and then back to Hoss. "This is a switch," he said, nodding toward Joe.

The big man frowned and then snorted. "You mean me...laid up instead of little brother?"

The older man nodded. "What happened?"

"My dag-burned horse...spooked, Pa. Threw me...clean off and into...a gully."

"Did you run into a rattlesnake?"

Hoss frowned. "It's funny, Pa. It...weren't no rattler. If'n I didn't know better...I'd a said it was...some kind of giant bird."

"Bird?"

"A... _big_ one, Pa." Hoss blinked with fatigue and his eyes almost closed. "Big as a horse...maybe bigger...if'n you ask me..."

Ben looked up to find Joe standing beside them. The look on his youngest son's face was hard to read.

"Joseph?"

The boy started. "Yeah, Pa?"

"Did you see this...giant bird your brother thinks he saw?"

Joe's face scrunched up and he winced. "Giant _bird?_ Who? Me? _"_ he squeaked. "No, I didn't see any giant bird. Hoss' fever was pretty high for a while. He probably imagined it."

It made sense.

Still, there was _something_ in Joe's voice.

Ben rose to his feet and turned toward Adam. He didn't get a chance to ask the question that had formed on his tongue because, at that moment, the door to the ranch house flew open and all three of Gil's daughters blew out in a flurry of petticoats and feminine concern.

"Oh! Oh my!" each one exclaimed as they descended on his three weary boys.

His eldest son tipped his hat as Ainslee approached, ready to be the gentleman and acknowledge her presence. It only took Adam a second to realize that _he_ was not her intended victim.

That was Joe.

Ever the little mother, Gil's oldest caught his youngest's hand and began to draw him toward the porch. "You need to sit down before you fall down," she ordered, her tone brooking no disagreement.

Joe shot him a look – a _helpless_ look.

Ben hid his smile. His boys were well-trained and tough. He'd spent years preparing them for the demanding work of a ranch and the harsh realities of the life they would lead.

He probably had _not_ prepared them well enough for women.

"Ainslee's right, Joe. Why don't you go in the house. And Ainslee?"

Joe still in her clutches, Gil's oldest swung toward him, her golden brows arched and ready for a fight.

"Hop Sing is in the kitchen. Ask him to rustle up some grub. Joe looks like he needs it."

That brought a smile.

"Certainly!" she responded – and then began to drag Joe again. "Come on, Little Joe. You _do_ look like you could use some meat on your bones."

Joe's heels left scuff marks on the beaten-down ground before the porch.

"Mister Cartwright?" a light voice asked. "If you would move out of the way..."

Ben started and turned. To his surprise Gil's other girls – Deidre and Fiona – had Hoss on his feet and were holding him up between them.

His middle son grinned. "Ain't these two the prettiest...crutches a man ever had, Pa?"

The older man nodded and then asked, amused, "Would you two young ladies like any help?" Both girls had a small-build, like their mother, and were bending like saplings in a wind under his son's considerable height and weight.

"We're just fine," Fiona replied, shifting and straightening up – and hiding the look of mild distress he had caught on her face only a moment before.

"You men!" Deirdre added, "Always thinking women are weak and need looking after. I would advise you look to your own _sons_." The brunette eyed Adam who had lingered by the horse and done his best to stay out of the proceedings. "Look at them. Worn, weary, and mud from head to toe! It looks like they could have used a woman on the trail."

She might be the middle girl, but Deirdre was definitely the most opinionated and vocal of the trio.

"Yes, well..."

The girl's dark brown brows peaked and she waited.

Ben pursed his lips. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I think she wants you to get out of the way, Pa," Hoss offered, his own voice lit with a smile.

"Oh. Right."

The older man stepped back. He had to stop himself twice from running after them as the girls slowly walked Hoss to the house. His son's leg was injured and it was all Gil's daughters could do to hold him up. Still, from the look on his face he thought his middle boy would have gladly taken a spill in order to remain in their company.

As the trio entered the house Adam came to his side.

"Gil's girls?" he asked.

Ben nodded.

The black-haired man pursed his lips. "And just _how_ long are they staying?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Everything was topsy-turvy that day and the next. After the Doc examined them, Joe and Hoss hit their beds hard and slept the day through. Joe was up the next morning, but returned to bed within a few hours. Hoss, of course, would be confined to his for a few days. Adam decided at the last minute to go back with several of the hands to the area his brothers had been searching, hoping to locate the steers that remained missing. All of which left _him_ in charge of the ranch and their house guests. For the entirety of two days Gil's girls had flitted about the house, rushing up and retreating down the stairs, carrying fresh linens and trays of food to Hoss and Joe, all the while fretting that there were men in need and they weren't doing enough.

It was nearly more than their maternal instincts could bear.

Ben glanced toward the front door remembering the scene that had played out in the foyer earlier in the day. There was going to be _hell_ to pay tonight. Hop Sing had come out of the kitchen to announce that he was headed to town for supplies. It had taken calling in every favor their Chinese cook owed him, but he had persuaded – well, he supposed _compelled_ was a better word– the Asian man to take the girls with him. With their departure a silence had come over the house that was the nectar of the gods.

"Pa?"

Ben looked up from his paper. He couldn't see anyone. "Joseph, is that you?"

Joe's curly head peered around the corner of the wall. "Are you alone?"

"If you mean are the Jenkins girls gone? For the moment, yes."

His youngest son headed down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Joe shook his head. "They sure are a handful, aren't they, Pa?"

"It was my understanding from your brothers, Joseph, that a 'handful' of a girl was something you rather enjoyed."

His tone was so dry Joe missed it for a second. Then he blushed.

"Pa..."

Ben shifted and put the paper down on the settee table. "They are lovely girls. They're just..."

"Girls," Joe replied, dropping into the big blue chair and anchoring his boots on the table.

The older man's eyes went from the table to his feet to the floor. "Ahem."

His son frowned. "Oh." Joe shifted and straightened up. "Sorry, Pa."

"That's one thing you wouldn't find a young lady doing. I'm certain Gil's furniture is in _much_ better condition than mine."

"They sure are something, Pa. I mean, you know, when you court a girl it's one thing. It's all about spooning and taking walks and then taking them home." Joe shook his head. "Living with them is _sure_ different."

The older man hid his smile. He paused, thinking of the three women he had loved. While they had brought chaos into his life, they had carried along with it beauty and joy. Of all his sons, Joseph had had his mother the longest. Maybe that was why he was the one of his boys who – even though he was the youngest – seemed the most likely to marry first.

"What do you remember of your mother, Joseph?"

The question took his son by surprise. A wistful look crossed the boy's face; a mixture of a child's gain and loss. He thought a moment and then shook his head. "There's not much, Pa. At least not much I can remember in the way of what she did _with_ me. I remember feeling safe when I was with her – and happy. I remember she smelled like a walk in a summer meadow full of flowers." He laughed. "I remember flowers in the house and... It's silly." Joe drew in a breath and let it out slowly, fighting back tears. "If I close my eyes, I can hear the swish of her skirts moving up and down the stairs."

Ben was a little choked up himself. "God knew what he was doing, son, when he took that rib from Adam and made him a mate. Male and female are parts of a whole. The woman's nature is to nurture and to take care, to protect in her own way by guarding against harm with caution and wise words. Her love for her man is fierce, but for her children, it is the fiercest of all."

"Just like those old mama grizzlies," Joe said softly.

Ben nodded. "A man, on the other hand, is all about pushing out and moving on, about trying himself and proving what he's worth. He wants – no _needs_ – a woman beside him to temper him and to give him something to protect. Something that needs looking after that reminds him what is the most important of all."

"How come you never married again, Pa?" his son asked innocently.

He'd asked himself that question a thousand times. Hoss and Joe had been so young when Marie died, they really needed a woman's touch. Still, the loss – three women loved and three laid in the grave – had been enough. And they'd gotten by.

All he had to do was look at his sons to know the choice had been right.

"I'm not entirely sure, Joseph. I guess, in the end, I've never met a woman who could measure up to the memories."

Joe glanced toward the door. "What was Gil's wife like?"

"She was a lovely woman. Ainslee looks the most like her, though from the little I have seen, it's Deirdre who has her personality."

Joe's eyebrows peaked. "She's a spitfire that one. You know what she did? She caught me in the hall this morning and asked me if I needed help getting dressed!"

"Really?"

His son nodded, his young face serious.

Ben's cheek twitched. "And did you?"

Joe's green eyes went wide. "Pa!"

This time he laughed out loud. It felt good. Rising to his feet, he crossed to his son and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've survived being shot, taken prisoner, and walking the desert with little or no water, boy. I think you can handle three women in the house for a few weeks. Give them a chance. You might be surprised to find that they are just as nervous about being in a house full of men."

His son's face scrunched up like a little boy's trying to figure a sum. "I hadn't thought about that, Pa."

"Well, _do_ think about it. Try to ease their stay and make them feel welcome. I think once they settle in, you'll find some of their forwardness is just nervousness." He patted Joe's shoulder and then lifted his hand. "Now, why don't you go up and see if your brother needs anything."

"I doubt it, Pa," Joe said as he rose. "That Deidre, she sure seems smitten with middle brother."

"Oh?" This was the first he had heard of it.

"She won't let Fiona or Ainslee anywhere near him. She's been sitting, reading to him when he's awake and hovering in the hall when he's asleep." Joe shook his head and shrugged. "She's been bringing him food too." He laughed. "I think half of Hop Sing's larder is in Hoss' stomach right now."

"And what does your _brother_ think about this?"

Joe smirked. "Older brother is in high hog heaven."

"Well, in that case, it's probably even _more_ important you check on him. He might starve to death since Deirdre's away."

"I think he's got enough laid up for the winter, Pa," Joe replied with a wink. He turned then and headed for the stair. At the bottom, he looked back. "Fair warning, Pa? When the hurricane blows back in?"

Ben nodded. "Fair warning, Joseph."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe arrived outside his brother's room seconds later. He took hold of the doorknob and then paused. He'd checked in on Hoss a few times to make sure he was healing, but with Deidre's presence had been able to avoid his middle brother for the most part. Their Pa had no idea what he was asking. He _knew_ Hoss was going to want to talk about what he _didn't_ want to talk about – whatever it was that had swooped overhead with a mighty wind blocking out the moon and the rain and knocking the big man from his horse.

Joe sighed and released the knob. He'd _almost_ convinced himself that what he saw was just a trick of the night and the lack of light, and of his own exhausted condition. After all, he couldn't have seen what he _thought_ he'd seen. There were no gargantuan birds residing in the desert or in the caves along the lake. Oh, he'd heard of the natives' weather spirits called the Thunderbirds. They caused storms by fighting with the Great Horned Spirit, and lightning was said to be made by the blinking of their great eyes. One of the transplanted tribes, the Shawnee, actually believed that the great birds were justice bringers and guarded the entrance to Heaven against the unworthy. Others considered them to be the patrons of war. The Apache called them the Big Owl. The Pawnee, Hu-Huk.

White men called them myth.

The trouble was that Hoss was well, gullible and easy to fool, and would believe just about anything if it had a connection to tall tales and legend. His middle brother had dragged him into more trouble than he cared to remember while trying to find things that didn't exist. Usually he went along with it, as much to keep the big man out of danger as anything else, but this time – well – this time it was different. He knew it wasn't a Thunderbird he had seen, but something _had_ been out there. Something that had scared not only Hoss' horse – but _him._

And Joseph Francis Cartwright did not _like_ admitting he was scared.

The problem was, he couldn't fight it, couldn't take hold of whatever it had been and whup it, or draw fast and drop it in its tracks. It was like a nightmare where something appeared _so_ real but when you reached out to touch it, it turned out to be nothing but vapor.

Burning, acrid, sulfur-laden vapor.

Joe closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath – said a quick prayer that Hoss would be sound asleep – and then turned the knob. Hoss was, of course, _wide_ awake.

Sometimes he just figured God plain didn't like him.

"Hey, big brother," he said as he poked his head in. "Just checking to see if you needed anything. If not, I'll – "

"Joe, come here," Hoss said in what he could best describe as a stage whisper. "Close the door. I got something I gotta show you."

He didn't like the conspiratorial sound of that. "Uh...I think I should get back downstairs, what with Adam gone..."

"Little Joe, this is dang _important._ Come in here." Hoss was shifting in the bed, sitting up, reaching for the bedside table and a book that lay there.

No, for a piece of newsprint that lay _under_ the book.

He hated it when his voice squeaked. "What's this about?"

Hoss patted the edge of his bed. "You just sit here, little brother, and I'll explain it all."

Seldom did he want to hear his father's bellow calling him downstairs. Now would have been a _good_ time.

Obediently, he sat down. "Okay."

Hoss glanced at the door into the hallway. "I bet you don't know that Miss Deirdre's been visiting me on a regular basis."

Of course not. He'd only seen her going in and out of Hoss' door at all hours of the day and night. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"She _sure_ has been. We've been talkin'." Hoss paused and his chest puffed out like a turkey in spring. He winked. "Her and me, we got it _all_ figured out."

Joe's face s scrunched up. He swallowed over a lump. "Got _what_ figured out?"

"Why, what you and me saw that night out there by the lake."

He shook his head. "I never said I saw anything."

The big man scowled. "Now you ain't gonna back out on me, is you, little brother? You had 'a of seen it, Joe. It knocked me right off my horse and you was close by."

The scrunch deepened. "Well, I might'a seen something, but I ain't saying what. It could of just been a low flying cloud – "

"That smelled like a sulfur pit?"

Joe shrugged. "Could'a passed through a mess of rotten eggs somewhere."

Hoss was giving him that look – the one that meant trouble. "Now you ain't _...afraid..._ is you, little brother?"

He straightened his spine. "I ain't afraid of nothing."

"'Cept maybe fire breathing _dragons?"_

Dragons?

It was worse than he thought.

"Dragons? Really?" He couldn't scrunch his nose anymore without it hurting. "Hoss, there ain't no such things as dragons."

His brother's brilliant blue eyes narrowed. He waggled the piece of newsprint in front of him like a free ticket to the Palace. "What if'n you read in the paper that there _was?"_

Joe rose to his feet. "Well, since there ain't no such thing, I won't be reading about it in the paper. I...oh..."

Damn.

Hoss handed him the slip of newsprint. The title on the front of it was: WINGED MONSTER FOUND IN DESERT.

There was even a picture.

Joe dropped into the chair beside the bed. He looked at his brother. "Where'd you get this?"

"Miss – "

"Deidre," Joe finished for him. "I should of known."

"Read it, Joe, and then tell me that _ain't_ what you and me seen."

He glanced at his brother, whose eager and excited face was almost more than he could bear, and then back at the article. With a sigh he read the whole thing.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 _A winged monster, resembling a huge alligator with an extremely elongated tail and an immense pair of wings, was found on the desert last Sunday by two ranchers who were returning home from the mountains. The creature was evidently greatly exhausted by a long flight and when discovered was able to fly but a short distance at a time. After the first shock of wild amazement had passed the two men, who were on horseback and armed with Winchester rifles, they regained sufficient courage to pursue the monster and after an exciting chase of several miles succeeded in getting near enough to open fire with their rifles and wounding it._

 _The creature then turned on the men, but owing to its exhausted condition they were able to keep out of its way and after a few well directed shots the monster partly rolled over and remained motionless. The men cautiously approached, their horses snorting with terror, and found that the creature was dead. They then proceeded to make an examination and found that it measured about ninety-two feet in length and the greatest diameter was about fifty inches. The monster had only two feet, these being situated a short distance in front of where the wings were joined to the body. The head, as near as they could judge, was about eight feet long, the jaws being thickly set with strong, sharp teeth. Its eyes were as large as a dinner plate and protruded about halfway from the head. They had some difficulty in measuring the wings as they were partly folded under the body, but finally got one straightened out sufficiently to get a measurement of seventy-eight feet, making the total length from tip to tip about 160 feet. The wings were composed of a thick and nearly transparent membrane and were devoid of feathers or hair, as was the entire body. The skin of the body was comparatively smooth and easily penetrated by a bullet._

 _The men cut off a small portion of the tip of one wing and took it home with them. Late last night one of them arrived in this city for supplies and to make the necessary preparations to skin the creature, when the hide will be sent east for examination by the eminent scientists of the day._

 _The finder returned early this morning accompanied by several prominent men who will endeavor to bring the strange creature to this city before it is mutilated._

 _oooooooooooooooooooooooooo_

"Now tell me that _ain't_ what we seen," Hoss repeated.

Joe folded the paper. "It ain't what we seen."

His brother made a face like he'd eaten a lemon. "What do you _mean_ , it ain't what we seen?"

He tossed the paper at him. "I mean, it _ain't_ what we seen! This is obviously a hoax. I bet when they got there to skin the 'creature' it was gone."

"What about the picture?"

"Hoss! It's a drawing. Anybody can draw _anything!_ I could draw a twenty foot tall horse with a horn coming out of its forehead and claim I just found the unicorn mentioned in the Bible. It doesn't mean anything."

Hoss's eyes were huge. "There's unicorns in the Bible?"

Joe ran a hand across his eyes. He leaned forward and took his brother's wrist in his hand. "Hoss, look at me."

"What for?"

He indicated his eyes with two fingers. "Just look at me, okay?"

His brother leaned in close. "What?"

"Repeat after me, 'There ain't no such thing as dragons'."

"Joe, how do you know that? The Pawnee believe in them."

"For goodness sake, Hoss!" he said, jumping to his feet. "The Pawnee believe in Red Woman, an ogress that eats people!"

His brother looked thoughtful. "You think maybe she rides on one of them there dragons?"

"You know what I think? I think that Deirdre's turned your head, big brother. You ain't thinking straight." Joe shook his head. "Blind-sided by a pretty girl!"

"Like _you_ ain't never been before," Hoss shot back.

Joe pointed at him. "Aha! There, you see! You admit it! You're makin' it up to impress her."

"I ain't admittin' nothin', little brother, other than the fact that if I could get off of this here bed, I'd teach you some manners! Don't you go makin' fun of Miss Deirdre!"

Joe made a face. "I'm not making fun of Deirdre. I'm making fun of _you_."

"Dag-burn it! That does it!"

Joe backed up as Hoss tossed off his covers and rose from the bed like the leviathan of legend.

"I thought your leg was...b...broke," he stammered, backing up even further.

Hoss was on his feet. "Just strained, little brother. And I ain't about to let a strain stop me from taking hold of your skinny little neck and wringing it!"

His brother lumbered toward him, looking for all the world like an irate pirate with a peg leg as he dragged his splinted one behind him. Joe threw his hands up. "Now, Hoss. I didn't mean any disrespect. I'm sure Deirdre's a lovely girl, if a bit...fanciful."

As he approached Hoss reached out. "I'll just _fanciful_ you..."

Joe's eyebrows shot up as he ducked under his brother's arm and headed for the door. "I think I heard Pa calling. I'll...go...see...what...he...wants..."

With that, he darted out the door.

And ran into Pa.

Their father staggered back, striking the wall. They both froze as he did. Joe looked at Hoss. His brother knew what he was thinking.

They didn't need to find a dragon. They already had one.

Pa was snorting fire.

" _BOYS! WHAT IN THE NAME OF SAM HILL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"_

They exchanged desperate glances. "I was...we was...were...coming down for some grub." He winced. "Hoss was tired of looking at the same four walls. I promised to show him a fifth one."

Pa was not smiling. He held his gaze and then turned his near-black eyes on Hoss. "And what are _you_ doing out of bed, young man? You know what Doc Martin said."

Hoss screwed up his face. "It's like Little Joe said, Pa. I'm sure plumb tired of lying in that bed."

"Well, you are going to be even more tired of it when I confine you to your room for a _month!"_

"Pa," Joe started hesitantly, "you can't do that. We're not little boys anymore."

The older man pinned him first, and then Hoss. Sometimes after their pa yelled, he went real quiet – just like a storm did when birthing a twister.

"Really?" he said. "I would _never_ have guessed."

"Pa, I..." Joe's voice trailed off. The front door had opened.

Rescue was at hand.

"Sounds like we got company, Pa. I'll just go down and see who it is." He edged toward the staircase but halted near the top. "Shall I?"

His father shot him a look that told him to stay where he was. Then he turned to Hoss. "Young man, you get back in that bed."

"Ah, Pa..."

One thick eyebrow arched in warning.

"Yes, sir."

As Hoss returned to his bedroom and bed, the silver-haired man came alongside him. He shot him a look, sighed deeply, and then headed down the stairs. Halfway down, he turned back. "Joseph!"

"Yes, sir?"

"The girls are back. I can hear them on the porch. Why don't you go out and help them with their packages."

He moved down the stair, passing the older man. "Sure, Pa."

As he reached the floor, his father spoke again. "Oh, Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Ainslee went into town to get fabric. It seems she's going to make dresses for her sisters for that party we're going to have. She's looking for a dressmaker's dummy."

Joe swallowed hard. "And?"

His father came to his side and locked eyes with him.

"Guess who just volunteered


	2. Part Two

FOUR

Adam was sure he'd been told one time that snickering was a sin, or at least the thought behind it was. Still, he couldn't help it.

He'd had never _seen_ Joe look so miserable.

It partly had to do with the fact that while, as he had threatened, their father had not turned his little brother into a dressmaker's dummy, the older man _had_ put him at the Jenkins' girls' disposal. Instead of breaking broncos and roping steers, Joe was holding straight pins between his teeth and stretching out a tape to measure fabric. He'd even been sent to town to buy lace and buttons, a sight which the black-haired man would have given his right arm to see. There were a few rewards, of course – afternoon tea with finger sandwiches was one of them. That's what was happening now. Joe was sitting on the hearth with a linen napkin on his lap, balancing a precarious plate of chicken sandwiches on his knee. One hand held a teacup, while the other was extended to act as a rack for the yarn Deirdre was winding. She was knitting Hoss a sweater.

Joe'd gone to town two more times to get enough yarn.

The black-haired man closed the door behind him and hung his hat on the rack by the door. He'd just come in off the range and was covered in dust. While they had guests, their pa was a stickler for proper attire at supper and so he headed for the stairs, intending to make a quick escape.

It wasn't meant to be.

"Adam, will you come here a minute?" Ainslee asked.

He turned toward her. "Well, actually, I need to get cleaned up before we eat."

"It will only take a minute," she said sweetly.

Adam scowled. Was this on the order of attracting more flies with honey?

Drawing a breath, he left the steps behind and crossed to the area before the fire that contained all three girls and a pitiable Joe. Taking a seat on the settee beside her, he turned to the oldest Jenkins' girl and asked, "Now, what can I do for you?"

Ainslee shook her head and blew out a little breath. "Talk some sense into my sisters' heads."

He looked from Fiona to Deirdre. Deid, as she was known, was busy with yarn flying. Fiona or Fee, who was seated to the side of Joe and facing his brother's back, leaned her chin on her hand and was staring – at Joe's back, at Joe's hair, at Joe's...rump.

Women.

"Sense about what?" he asked.

"This ridiculous notion that there are dragons living in the desert to the south of the Ponderosa."

Adam blinked. "Dragons?"

Ainslee frowned. Her eyes shot to Joe. "You haven't told him?"

Joe shoved a chicken sandwich in his mouth – conveniently. His answer came out as an unintelligible, 'Mmrrumph'.

"Dragons." Adam's lips pursed and one black eyebrow arched. "Yes, Joe. Why _don't_ you tell me about the dragons? Once you swallow, of course."

Joe's expression seemed to indicate he was considering which would be the least painful – telling him or choking on his food.

"Hoss and Joe saw a dragon the night Hoss hurt his leg. Didn't you, Little Joe?" Deidre asked as she tugged the last length of yarn from his brother's arm, freeing him to grab another sandwich. "In fact, it was the dragon that knocked Hoss off his horse!"

The other brow rose to match the first one. "I see..."

Deirdre put the yarn down and moved to sit on the edge of the settee table as she warmed to her tale. "Hoss told me that he was riding through the rain, hunting for stray steers, when a wind came up and something flew past and brushed his horse, spooking it so it threw him off. That's why he fell. He said it smelled _powerful_ bad like a whole _pool_ of rotten eggs." Her blue eyes were wide. "When Hoss looked up from the bottom of the gully, whatever it was blacked out the sky!"

"Hoss told you this?" As she nodded, his eyes went to Joe. He'd like to have asked him if they had been drinking, but that wouldn't be polite in present company. "So, Joe, what did _you_ see?"

Joe looked like a little boy who found a lump of coal in his stocking at Christmas.

His plate was empty.

"Joe?"

His little brother was a handsome man, but he could pull some funny faces. Sucking a piece of rhubarb might have described this one.

"Well, _I_ didn't see any dragon."

"Yes, you did!" Deirdre insisted. "You said it flew over your head and flashed its eyes and you smelled something burning like – "

"I didn't see anything!" Joe nearly shouted. He realized pretty quickly that that was bad form. "Sorry, Deid, but I didn't. It was black as pitch. I couldn't see anything."

"But you said..."

"I _said_ I saw _something_ looming overhead. The stars went out. There was a rushing wind and then," he paused, "two flashes of light. Then I smelled something burning."

"Sounds like a dragon to me," Adam prompted.

It looked like Joe'd sucked three pieces this time. "You just shut up!"

Adam wagged a finger. "Temper, temper."

Joe's fists were up. "I'll _temper_ you..."

The black-haired man shook his head. "Not in front of the ladies."

His little brother looked from side to side. All three girls were staring at him, though Fiona looked the hungriest of all. Joe dropped back to the hearth. "I tell you, I don't believe in dragons. It's Hoss making all the trouble."

"So _Hoss_ believe in dragons?" Adam asked, slightly skeptical.

Joe shrugged. "Well, kind of. He believes in the Thunderbirds, and he thinks they may _be_ dragons."

Adam thought a moment. "The giant birds the Indians believe in? The ones that guard the gates to Heaven?"

"Well, you saw that old Indian who helped us. Hoss thinks he's..." Joe hesitated. It was obvious he felt like an idiot. "Hoss thinks he's their keeper."

"The Thunderbirds."

Joe nodded. "Soon as he's able, he wants to go out there looking for them. I told him Pa would skin him if he finds out what he's up to."

"So..." Adam began. "If you don't think what you saw was a dragon or a Thunderbird, what _do_ you think it was?"

Joe chewed his lip. "I haven't got a clue."

Adam leaned back in the settee. After thinking a moment, he began, "While I don't for one minute believe there is anything supernatural about what you saw, Joe, it is evident both you and Hoss _did_ see something. Whatever it was, it was dangerous enough to knock Hoss off his horse. The fact that you smelled something burning is troublesome too. You never know when the land's going to go dry. So I think," he paused, "that you and I should go back to the lake and take a look around."

Joe glanced at the various articles of the womanly arts – and the women – surrounding him. "I ain't got paroled yet."

Adam fought the snicker again. "I think I might be able to persuade Pa to liberate you."

It was amazing. In unison all three of the Jenkins' girls put their hands on their hips while exclaiming, "Well, I never!"

"Ladies," Adam soothed, "you have to understand, while my youngest brother values your company and attending to your needs as dearly as his own life, he _is_ a man and there's something inside of a man that can only take so much sitting – and knitting." He leaned forward and lowered his voice, speaking almost conspiratorially. "Now ladies, I ask you, which kind of man do you prefer – a city slicker sitting in an office, sipping tea and eating biscuits, or a man who can rope a steer with one hand while holding a pistol in the other and hitting a bulls eye as he rides past?"

Fiona was still looking at Joe. She sighed so hard her shoulders rose a full two inches. "I'd take the one with the muscles," she breathed.

Deirdre seconded that with an enthusiastic nod.

Adam turned to Gil's oldest daughter. The late afternoon sun was streaming in the window and it set her golden hair on fire. It was the first time he had realized how _truly_ beautiful she was. "Well, what do you think, Ainslee?"

Her eyes flicked to Joe and then back to him as her rose petal lips curled in a smile.

"If I had to make a choice, I'd take the one with the mind."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright nodded his thanks to Hop Sing as the Chinese man cleared the dishes from the table and returned to the kitchen with them. Their cook had outdone himself tonight by fixing a delicious basted chicken with vegetables. The silver-haired man wiped his lips with his napkin and laid it beside his plate, quite content. He glanced at his old friend, Gil, who sat at the other end of the table, and then let his eyes roam over its six other inhabitants. They were lined up like contenders in some kind of contest – the three Jenkins' girls on one side and his three boys on the other. He didn't know what had passed between them before they all sat down to supper, but the looks, avoided looks, and responses _to_ looks were at the worst irritating, and at best, comical. Joe and Deirdre were shooting daggers at one another. Hoss – who had been freed from his confinement by Doc Martin earlier in the day – was leaning on his fist eying Gil's middle girl like she was a prime steak. Fiona was seated directly across from Joe and had somehow managed to eat her entire meal without taking her eyes off of him, while her older sister seemed mildly attracted to Adam, who was doing his best to remain aloof and out of the whole thing.

Doing his best, but failing.

The older man sucked in a breath and let it out with words. "Well, I think that was one of Hop Sing's finest. What do you say, Gil?"

His old friend nodded as he reached for his glass. "I heartily agree, Ben."

"And what did you think, Ainslee?" Ben waited. When Gil's eldest girl failed to respond, he asked again. "Ainslee?"

She blinked and her head turned toward him. "Did you want something, Ben?"

"I asked if you enjoyed your meal."

"Everything was delicious," she replied.

"How about you, Deirdre?"

Gil's middle girl was obviously enjoying the attention she was getting from his middle boy. "I declare, Mister Cartwright," she said, "that chicken was just about the most wonderful thing that's ever passed by these lips!" Deirdre pointed toward her lips and pursed them even as she batted her long ink-black lashes.

Hoss's jaw nearly hit his empty plate.

"Yes, well." He turned toward Gil's youngest. "Fiona, how about you?"

Fiona had both elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her hands. She drew a deep breath and let it out in one long-suffering sigh. " _Everything_ is wonderful here," she murmured, her eyes still fixed on Joe.

Joe squirmed appropriately.

"I see..." The older man shifted back in his chair. "So, tell me, what have the six of you been up to today?"

Six faces turned toward him at once. Each one wore a guilty expression.

"Why, why we ain't been up to anything, Pa," Hoss stammered. "Whatever made you think we was?"

"That's right, Pa," Joe said, a little _too_ quickly. "I spent the day helping the young ladies here, like you said. There wasn't time for anything else."

Ben nodded. "How about you, Adam? Did you spend the day doing _nothing_ as well?"

"Actually, I was busy. I rode out to check on the ranch hands in the south pasture. You know," Adam dropped his napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair. Ben saw his eyes flick to his youngest brother. "I was thinking maybe Joe and I should go back to the area of the lake and see if we can round up the missing steers."

"I thought the hands did that already."

"They didn't find all of them."

"It looks like there's another storm headed our way, Pa," Joe chimed in. "Adam and I thought maybe we should head out tonight and make camp. That way we could look for them at first light." His youngest's gaze passed over Fiona – halting briefly as it did to take in the girl's loveliness, no doubt – before landing on him. "How's that sound?"

Ben pulled on his chin. "Well, I don't know. The girls need help with – "

"Hoss will be here, Pa. I'm sure he'd be happy to chaperone the lovely ladies while we're gone," Adam interjected. "Isn't that right, Hoss?"

The older man watched unspoken words pass between them. "Sure thing, Pa," the big man nodded. "The Doc said it's okay for me to be out of bed and doing things, just so's I'm careful. I'd be happy to help the little ladies all I can."

"Yeah, Pa. Hoss can stretch yarn and hand out pins with the best of them!" his youngest enthused.

He'd been here before. _Many_ times. Over thirty years of raising boys had honed his senses to a fine point. He _knew_ when they were scheming. He just had to decide whether or not to let them _know_ he knew.

"So let me get this straight, you and Joe want to take off for Lake Tahoe while you brother stays behind to entertain Gil's girls. And _all_ you are doing is looking for strays."

"What else would we be doing?" Adam asked, putting on his most angelic countenance.

Joe did the same – only there was always a touch of the Old Nick in his youngest's look. "Those strays need corralling before they hurt themselves."

The steers weren't the ones he was worried about getting hurt.

Ben looked at Gil's daughters. "How do you young ladies feel about it?"

"I'd like to go along and watch," Fiona sighed.

Joe looked like he was going to jump out of his skin. "It's too dangerous for a girl," he said.

The older of Gil's girls rolled her eyes. She looked directly at Hoss. "Seems to me that one's sex has nothing to do with getting hurt."

" _I_ know!" Deirdre had one of those feminine looks – the kind that got the ancient city of Troy burned to the ground. "We'll ride out and bring you lunch!"

Adam raised a hand. "There's no need. Why, we probably won't even have time to eat. Will we, Joe?"

Ben nodded. "I think that's a splendid idea! You boys can go, but on the condition that the girls join you for lunch."

"Pa, I don't know if that's such a good idea," Hoss said, his tone odd.

"Oh? Why?"

There it was again. The conspiratorial silence he had noticed earlier.

"Well, it's kind of...dangerous out there alone on the range," his middle son said at last. "Specially with them bein' city girls and not used to the wilderness."

"But we _won't_ be alone," Fiona declared. "We'll be with _real_ men who can hit a bull's eye while roping a steer." She batted her eyelashes at his youngest. "You'll keep us safe, won't you Little Joe?"

Joe nodded as he pulled at his collar. "Sure thing, Fee."

"Well, then, it's settled – unless you have some objection, Gil."

"I think an outing is just the thing these fine young people need, Ben," his old friend said as he pushed his chair back and rose. "And it will allow you to take me up to that range you wanted to show me."

Ben nodded. "Adam. Joe. Get your gear together. There's only a few hours of daylight left, so you'd best be on your way."

"Sure thing, Pa!" Joe replied. Seconds later his youngest was bounding up the stairs, headed for his room.

Ben glanced at Fiona and smiled _. Free at last._

The older man turned back then to find his eldest son heading for the door. He caught up to him just before he opened it. "Adam, is there anything you would like to tell me?" Ben asked quietly.

Adam frowned. "Like what, Pa?"

"Like what you are _really_ going to the lake for."

"Just what we said, Pa. We're looking for steers."

" _Just_ for steers?"

His son shrugged. "What else is there?"

Ben released Adam's arm. As his eldest disappeared out the door, he turned back to find the three girls huddled around Hoss. They were already deep in conversation.

What else indeed?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"This is where I found you," Adam told Joe as they stopped beside a tumble of rocks. He tugged on the collar of his tan coat and pulled it closer about his throat. Whatever system of weather had settled over their portion of the Nevada territory, it was bound and determined to bring winter in before its time. There was a chill mist in the air and a rising wind. Joe had been right. There _was_ another storm approaching. They'd have to seek shelter before it hit. His brother had suggested they locate the cave he and Hoss had been holed up in. He'd agreed as it was the surest one to find, and a visit there might actually aid them in solving the mystery of the old Indian and, well, Hoss' Thunderbird dragon.

Good Lord! The things he let himself get talked into.

"Do you have any memory of how you got here from there?" he asked, meaning the cave they were seeking.

Joe had his hands on his hips and was turning in a slow circle. "I was awful tired, and I was dragging Hoss..."

"I imagine that's _why_ you were 'awful tired'," Adam suggested wryly.

His little brother snorted. "I imagine so." He turned around one more time and then remained fixed on the south. "I think it was this way."

"Think? Or _know?"_

Joe glanced up at the sky. It was nearly dark. Soon, looking for anything in this region with its gullies and rises and tall rock piles and walls would be impossible. His brother's face had a funny expression. Well, not funny really. Though Joe would never admit it, whatever he had run into out here had him scared.

"Sure as I can be, Adam," he said at last. "I wasn't exactly paying attention to the landscape. I was just putting one foot in front of the other, heading home." Joe looked over his shoulder. "Home's north, which means you and I need to go south."

Adam removed his hat to wipe a sheen of water from his face and then replaced it, lowering the brim for protection. "Rain's coming. We need to get moving."

Joe hesitated a moment, looking down at his boots, almost as if he was waiting for him to take the lead. Then, in true little brother fashion, he took a deep breath, steeled himself against whatever demon he was fighting, and plowed ahead.

With a smile Adam followed in his wake.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was ridiculous. There were no such things as dragons or Thunderbirds. So _why_ did he keep looking up and over his shoulder?

Joe shook his head and winced as rainwater flew from it. They'd been walking for about a half an hour and, during that time, the clouds had broke open and water begun to pore down. In the distance there were rumbles of thunder, so a storm _was_ on its way. He had to lead Adam to the cave before it hit. He didn't want a repeat of the night when he and Hoss had become separated and Hoss had fallen into a gully. He knew Adam felt responsible for him, but he was just as responsible for Adam – especially as he was the one who had been to the cave and should have known where it was.

The trouble was, he didn't. After all, someone had led him there and, when he left, he was hauling Hoss and not thinking about much – as he said – but putting one foot in front of the other. Still, the land they traveled looked kind of familiar and he thought they were headed in the right direction.

It was almost pitch-black, so they'd better get there soon.

Joe glanced back at his brother. They were both walking and leading their horses as the terrain was too uneven for them to ride and be sure of their footing. It was a good thing their pa thought older brother knew what he was doing. If the silver-haired man had known they were wandering around out here in the dark, nigh-on to lost, his hair'd be a shade closer to white! As Joe stood there staring, waiting for Adam to catch up, there was another rumble of thunder. The wind picked up even more, riffling through his brown hair like a lady's fingers and dragging a few of the curls into his eyes. As he reached up to brush them back, there was a crack of lightning. Cochise snorted and blew air out of his nose. Close by Sport gave an answering whinny.

"It's almost on us, Joe. Any luck?" Adam asked.

What moonlight remained revealed a tall wall of rock before them. He nodded toward it. "I think that's it."

"Let's hope you're right. I am more than ready for a fire and place to lay my head."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Five minutes later, as the storm rolled in over their heads, they found it. Joe went in first, eager it seemed to prove something to himself. Adam followed more slowly. Once inside he recognized the cave from Joe's earlier description. The remnants of the fire were there and the rack he had described that held their wet clothes. It was a good dry cave, and at the moment seemed about as close to Heaven as he had ever been.

It took a while for the two of them to shake off the busy-ness of the day and so they sat for about an hour, quietly talking about a number of things. Only one time did Joe bring up Hoss' dragon and when he did, it was as a joke. Still, Adam could see that there was something there – a real fear or apprehension. Whatever had happened out here several days before was still haunting his baby brother. And since Joe didn't scare easily, he had to accept the fact that whatever it was that _had_ happened, it had to be real.

Finally Joe stopped talking. He rolled over, his breathing evened out, and he was asleep in seconds. Adam continued to sit and think and then, maybe fifteen minutes later, rose to his feet and headed for the cave mouth.

Rain or shine a man had to relieve himself.

At the entrance to the cave he paused. The rain had lessened, but he knew it was because they were at the heart of the storm. All around the cave the lightning cracked and the thunder rumbled. The respite was a good time to step into the trees and so he took advantage of it, emerging several minutes later just as a bolt of lightning struck with a crack and the land shook beneath his feet with its fury. Adam turned in its direction, checking to see if the bolt had set anything on fire. At that moment a gust of wind struck him and something – something _big_ and black – passed between him and the stars, making the stars go dark.

A second later he smelled something like sulfur.

FIVE

"Joe! Joe! I saw it! Wake up, Joe!"

First one green eye opened, and then the other. Joe focused on the black blur standing beside him, shouting at him to wake up, and then fatigue won out and his eyes closed and he rolled over to sleep.

The black blur caught his arm and turned him back. "Joe! Come on! I saw what direction it went. We need to follow, _now_ before it gets away!"

Joe shuddered and then rolled into a seated position. As he sat there, blinking, the blur coalesced into his brother Adam. Big brother's hazel eyes were wide and just a little bit wild. "What 'it'?" he asked drowsily.

"Hoss' dragon!" Adam declared as he made a beeline for the cave mouth.

Joe rose unsteadily. He'd been deep asleep. As he stumbled after Adam, he noted the lightning strike just without the cave and halted. "Adam, it's raining."

Adam turned back with a frown. "I know that." He held his arms out. The black cloth was dripping. "What part of me _knowing_ that don't you get?"

"Ah, Adam..." he whined. "I don't want to get wet again."

"Look. Do you want to find out what this thing is or not?"

"Sure I do, but – "

"Well, come on then!"

With that final shout Adam ran out of the cave.

Joe hesitated a moment longer and then placed his hat on his head and followed.

The night was wicked. A cold wet wind spit into his face as he exited the cave. Joe pulled his collar up close about his throat and then cast his gaze about, finally locating his brother about fifty feet ahead of him. Visions of another Cartwright laying at the bottom of a gully with water piling on top of him finally got the man with the curly brown hair moving. It took about ten seconds to catch up with his brother. When Joe drew alongside him, Adam gripped his arm and pulled him down into a crouched position. Then he pointed up.

"Joe, look!"

He looked up, more than half expecting to see a fire breathing dragon perched on top of one of the tall piles of rocks. Instead he found a man. The lightning cracked even as the man rose to his feet, revealing a tall figure wrapped in a long dark coat. The coat's tails snapped in the wind, lifting and then swooping down like a giant bird's wings to wrap around his legs.

"Is that your native?" Adam asked, his lips close to his brother's ear.

Joe looked closer. "I can't say for sure, but I don't think so." The native had been old and frail, his back bent like a bow. Whoever this was stood up straight and tall and had more bulk. "Hey!" Joe called out. "Hey, you up there! "

"Joe, no. I don't think that's wise..."

He started to ask why not. He got his answer a second later when there was a flash of light, a small concussion, and a bullet struck the earth near his feet, kicking up mud.

Even as Adam dove to the left, he called out, "Joe, take shelter!"

Joe glanced to the right. The night was black as the inside of God's pockets. He had no idea if the ground was flat, if there was a drop-off or maybe even a fifty foot cliff bare inches from him. Taking courage in hand, he dropped and rolled, pulling his gun from its holster as he did and getting off a shot that went wild. A second later there was a burst of light to the other side of the rock pile as Adam did the same. Joe heard the bullet strike the rock and ricochet.

"Joe, run! He has us at an advantage! Get out of his line of fire!"

For once Joe did as he was told. He knew his older brother could take care of himself. Besides, if he could make his way around the back of the rocky tower, he might be able to climb to the top and take the man by surprise. There was no way of knowing what they had stumbled onto. There was that band of Indians their ranch hand had seen. This could be one of them. And there were those missing steers. Maybe this was a rustler out to steal their cattle. If so, whoever it was would be bound and determined to make sure they didn't survive to tell the law about it.

Joe glanced up as he edged around the column of stones. Whoever it was, was perched high on the rocks. He was turned in Adam's direction and paying no attention to him. Cautiously, the brown-haired man reached up and caught hold of one of the stones. It wasn't easy. The rocks were wet and in places slippery and his fingers were cold and stiff. Still, he worked his way up. As he got to the top the lightning struck again, illuminating the lower portion of the cloaked figure, revealing a pair of white man's pants and store bought boots.

The man stepped forward and knelt on the edge of the boulder. He watched for a moment and then lifted his rifle and took deliberate aim.

Joe began to shake. What if it was _Adam_ he had in his sights?

"Adam! Look out!" He shouted even as he pulled himself up and over the edge and then barreled toward the shooter. "Adam! _Run!"_

Joe's hurtling form hit the man just below the knees, knocking the rifle from his hand and propelling him over the edge of the rock. At the last second, the man's hand closed on his ankle.

With a startled cry, Joe went with him.

It seemed like they fell for an hour, though he knew it could have been no more than a few seconds. Whoever the shooter was he landed first, crying out as he did. Joe hit him instead of the ground. The man's body cushioned his fall, but the impact knocked the wind out of him. Rolling off, he lay there, breathing hard. In the distance he could hear Adam calling his name.

Unsteadily, Joe rose to his feet. He stumbled back a few paces.

And fell again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was like being in a pit in Hell. The light and the wind whipped around Adam as he worked his way over the uneven land calling his brother's name. He kicked himself for being so impulsive. It was just, well, he had seen something beyond explanation and he didn't _like_ things that went beyond explanation, so he damn well wanted to catch it and explain it so he could shut down for the night and sleep. How in the world was he supposed to know that there was something _else_ out here – something that posed a greater threat than Hoss' dragon?

A man.

He'd run west, praying to God that Joe ran east. He'd heard his brother cry out, telling him to run, and had taken off like a shot, just outpacing the bullet that struck the earth near his feet. He'd kept on running for a while and then had stopped when he heard a curious sound. Something struck the earth hard and a man cried out. The voice was deep, so he didn't think it was Joe's. Still, there was no way to be certain until he found his brother, which was going to be _damn_ hard on a lightless night in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a storm.

The tall tower of rock was before him – at least he _thought_ it was the same tower the shooter had used as a platform. Unfortunately one pile of rocks looked pretty much like every other pile of rocks in the dark. Still, this one had a decided lean to it like the one he remembered passing. As he moved through the dark and the rain Adam walked with one hand stretched out like a blind man, seeking to protect himself from anything unexpected. He'd been winding around the rock in ever widening circles for about two minutes when suddenly – unexpectedly – he stepped on something.

Something soft.

"Good God!" the black-haired man breathed as he dropped into a crouched position. "Joe?"

Adam could tell the moment he went to turn the man over that it wasn't his baby brother. Whoever this was had a build like he did – medium-sized and broad – and probably weighed a good fifty pounds more than Joe. He leaned down and placed his ear against the man's chest to check for a heartbeat. It was thready and his breathing was labored. If this was the shooter – which he supposed it was – then the man had fallen a good twenty to thirty feet to strike the ground. Most likely there were internal injuries. Adam rocked back on his heels and sat there, the rain soaking him, for a handful of heartbeats as he tried to make up his mind. If he wanted to find out what this was all about – why the man had shot at them and why he was here in the first place – then he was going to have to get him to a dry warm place. Otherwise the combination of the cold and the rain and shock might kill him. There was, however, one problem.

Little Joe was missing.

Adam rose to his feet and moved to the back of the rocky tower, thinking – if Joe had fallen – he might find him laying there. As he reached the opposite side, the moon broke free of a thick bank of clouds to send its silver fingers groping along the land. Something glinted in one of its beams. The black-haired man frowned as he crossed over to it and knelt. When he saw what it was and where it was laying, a pit the size of Nevada opened in his stomach.

It was Joe's pearl handled pistol and it was laying on the edge of a rock face.

Adam dropped to his knees and looked past the swirling mist and into the ravine itself. Its sides went straight down for five or ten feet and then rolled away into blackness. There was no way of knowing what lay hidden in that mist – wet grass, inches of mud, or several feet of water. The black-haired man glanced at the pistol he held in his hand. Had Joe climbed up and tried to take the shooter? Had the two of them struggled and both fallen? Was Joe up where he was, only feet away from him, laying unconscious somewhere in the darkness, unable to call out?

Or, God forbid! Had he gone over the edge?

Adam turned back to look at the injured man. If he left the shooter where he was, he might die of exposure. But then again if he took the time to drag the man to the cave, he might be dooming Joe. His brother could be injured or, worse than that, be laying at the bottom of the ravine in six inches of water right now drowning. Adam pursed his lips and grunted..

Life certainly could turn on a five cent piece!

Returning to the man, Adam checked his vitals again. He was breathing easier and his heartbeat had regained some strength. So maybe he _would_ make it. Taking hold of his boots, he dragged him over to the rocky tower and positioned him so he was partially protected from the wild night. Tearing a few strips of cloth from the man's shirt tail, he used the strips to bind his hands and feet and then returned to the ravine and toed the edge. It was sheer foolishness – not to mention stupidity – to go over and ride the mud to the bottom. He had no proof Joe was down there.

He should wait for that and for first light.

Cupping his hands about his mouth, Adam called out. "Joe! Joe, can you hear me?" The black-haired man sucked in a painful breath as he waited. Was he really here again, so soon? Somehow it seemed, since the arrival of Gil Jenkins and his girls, that everything had gone wrong. "Little Joe! Answer me! _Joe!"_

Nothing.

Adam sat and swung his legs over the edge. For a moment he remained where he was, a whispered prayer on his lips.

Then he began the slow, cautious descent to the bottom.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Even as Adam began his search for his little brother, rounding the rocks and stumbling on the fallen man, Joe awoke at the bottom of the ravine. He groaned as he opened his eyes and wiggled his nose, breaking the new crust of mud that had formed there. Sitting up, he put a hand to the back of his head and ran his fingers through the mass of brown curls like a comb, probing for the lump that _had_ to be there. He winced when he found it and then gingerly felt all around it. The lump was close to the size of a goose egg and throbbed like a crushed thumb, sending pain strong enough to rattle his teeth pounding through his head. Rising slowly to his feet, he looked around. The moon was darting in and out of the clouds, but there was enough light to see the high wall of rock, dirt, and grass beside him. He looked up and frowned. He'd been up there, hadn't he? A second later it all came back in a flash like lightning. Of course, he had. There'd been someone shooting at him. He climbed up and tackled them and both of them had fallen. Joe glanced around but didn't see anybody else, so the shooter must still be up top.

 _Way_ up top.

There was no way with the rain, wet rocks, and mud that he was going to be able to climb out of the ravine. There _was_ a fairly well-worn path beaten along its edge, so he'd just have to follow that and see if he could find a place where the wall dropped lower or the land rose up to meet it. He started to walk but then hesitated. There was something else. Something. _Someone_...

Adam. He'd been with Adam.

 _Damn!_

Joe frowned. He halted and listened. When he didn't hear anything riding the wild wind or rising above the sound of the pounding rain, he put a hand to his mouth and called out. "Adam? Adam, can you hear me? Adam? Are you there?"

Remaining still, he listened again. There was nothing. With the wind howling, it was pointless. He'd just have to hope that Adam figured out what he was doing and managed to pace him along the ravine's top edge.

Hopefully big brother wouldn't be stupid enough to follow him to the bottom.

Joe tucked his head down, letting the brim of his black hat bear the brunt of the wind as he began to move. Unfortunately, the ravine channeled it like a tunnel and it was near strong enough to blow him over. Leaning into it he pressed on, traveling along the bottom of the dirt wall, headed for God only knew where. As he walked he pondered the mystery of the man who had shot at them. There was no way anyone could have known they would be out here, not even the ranch hands who were working the range. It appeared he and Adam had stumbled onto something – most likely men rustling cattle or trespassing illegally on their land – and had come close to paying for their discovery with their lives.

Joe removed his hat and shook it. Then he ran his wet sleeve over his wetter face. He sure hoped Adam was all right. Big brother could be laying up there somewhere bleeding out with a bullet in him.

"Don't borrow trouble, Joe," he told himself, speaking out loud. "Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other."

Continuing on at the best pace he could, Joe hugged the edge of the ravine, noting as he went that it seemed to be getting higher instead of lower. When he looked up, the sky put him in mind of that first night when he and Hoss had been down in one of these natural ditches and he had seen – well, whatever it was he had seen. He wondered now if it had been the man he had tackled. The shooter's long dark coat flapping in the wind had kind of looked like a giant bird's wings, and the spark of his gun like a bright blinking eye. There was also the scent of gunpowder, which came close to smelling like the proverbial dragon or Thunderbird's fire and brimstone breath.

It was easy out here to get spooked. There was so much hiding in the shadows, waiting to jump out and take you on. One of the first things their pa had taught them was respect for nature. He showed them the soaring beauty of the great Ponderosa pine trees, the sparkling wonder of a river glinting in the sun, the bounty of a field ripe with grain, but he had also taken them deep into the woods where they encountered hungry wolves, protective momma bears, and all the things that creep and crawl that can take a man out with one touch of their claws or bite of their venomous fangs. There was a world within a world on the range and though a man might be at the top, he was still only one more creature in the food chain.

The more he thought about it, the less likely he thought he had actually seen anything other than a man. After all, there were no such things as Thunderbirds or fire breathing dragons. They belonged in a story heard around the campfire at dusk, wrapped in a warm blanket and leaning on your pa's side, just on the edge of sleep.

They were the stuff dreams were made of.

Joe traveled on for several more minutes and then stopped abruptly. Facing him was a solid wall. The ravine had ended in a horseshoe of rock and dirt and there was no way out. Squinting in the meager light, he assayed the rock face for hand and footholds, but saw very few. Anyhow the surface of the rock was glistening, which meant it was wet and most likely slippery. Backing up to the ravine's wall on the left hand side, he slipped under a narrow overhang and stood there out of the rain, thinking. He _could_ turn back. Still, he'd been walking for nigh onto half an hour and that really didn't appeal to him. He could try to climb out. That was probably futile. Or –

 _Or_ he could enter the cave maw that yawned before him and hope that it came out on the other side like the ones he remembered from being a boy.

Of course, if it was dark out here, it would be darker than dirt inside the cave. He had no light to carry in with him. Sure, he had matches in his pockets, but they were as soaked through as he was. So that meant plunging into the unknown and facing it without a torch – or a weapon. A moment before his hand had gone to his gun belt in anticipation of trouble, but come away empty. Along with his wallet, he must have lost his gun in the fall.

Which was _not_ good.

Joe stood there, torn. Lifting his face into the rain and wind, he tried calling his brother again. "Adam! Adam, can you hear me?"

Shivering as he waited, the youngest Cartwright counted ten heartbeats and then gave up. "Who are you kidding?" he asked himself. If Adam had been _ten_ feet away, the likelihood that he would have heard him was small as a pup's chance in a pack of wolves. He considered backtracking again and dismissed it. Then he headed for the cave. At the very least he could take shelter in it and wait for Adam to find him. At the most, he might find a way out of the ravine.

Or, he snorted, he might just find Hoss' dragon.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd forgotten how much he hated mud.

Adam picked his foot up and reached for his pants leg. Lifting the sodden fabric, he frowned. The mud was so thick at the bottom of the ravine that it had rushed up and over the edge of his boots filling them as he hit bottom, leaving his feet swimming in cold wet muck. He snorted rain out of his nose and then pinched it to clear the remaining moisture away. Why did this always happen? When he found Joe, he should knock him from here to next Wednesday for being so rash and impulsive. He wouldn't, of course. No, he wouldn't because he'd be so happy to see the kid alive that the most anger he could muster would be to shake him a bit before giving him a big bear hug.

At least this time it wasn't haying season.

Adam glanced again at his boots, considered removing them and emptying them out before moving on, and then decided it would be useless. Instead he raised his right foot, frowned at the sucking sound it made, and soldiered on with his head bent low against the wind and his collar pulled up tight to fend off the chill. As he walked he called out to his brother, though he knew that was useless too. The wind was howling through the rocks like the proverbial Irish banshee.

As he walked, the black-haired man considered the events of the last few days. They were as muddy as the land he traversed. Hoss and Joe had been here, on this same bit of it, when they saw a great black shape both thought was a bird of mythic proportions. They'd been rescued by an old Indian and left in a cave to dry out. _He_ had come looking for his brothers and seen both the Indian and something like this bird, though the one he saw lacked the flashing eyes Joe had described. They'd returned home then to find that the paper contained a report of a group of men finding a similar creature's dead carcass in the desert and that a band of 'scientists' – he hesitated to employ that word, but that's what the papers called them – had recently arrived in California to dissect it.

What would be next? A sighting of the Leviathan in Lake Tahoe? Unicorns in Carson City?

Adam blew out a frustrated breath. He and Joe had plotted and planned and managed to wrangle permission from their father to return to the place where all of this had happened in order to see what they could find. What they found was a man – in a long dark coat flapping like a bird's wings in the wind – who tried to kill them.

How was all of it connected? _Was_ it connected?

Somehow he thought that it was.

He and Joe had been separated by the man's gunfire. Joe being Joe, had climbed the pile of rocks to the top where the shooter was perched and taken the man on by himself – which resulted in both of them falling and Joe going over the edge and into a ravine.

And here they were.

Adam stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth and called again. "Joe? Joe! Are you there?"

Faith made real gold of pyrite at times. He got an answer.

The black-haired man cocked his head and listened. Moving forward, hopeful, he called out again. "Joe! If that's you, answer me!"

Yes. A definite reply this time. And it _was_ Joe. He recognized his little brother's light tenor voice. It seemed strong, so that suggested the kid was okay.

"Joe! Where are you?" he called out even as he pressed on.

"Adam, where are _you?"_ his brother echoed.

Adam saw a slight form emerging from a wall of blackness directly in his path. Joe had his light gray shirt on today as well as his darker gray pants, and looked like a ghost by contrast. His kid brother raised his hands over his head and waved them wildly as he jogged forward. At first he thought Joe was signaling him to join him. Then he noted how tense his brother's form was and realized it was a signal all right –

A signal to stay back.

At that instant mud exploded up from beside him as a result of the impact of a bullet fired from the ridge above.

Even as he varied his course and headed for the shelter of the shadows on the far side of the ravine, Adam shouted. "Joe! Get back! Get out of the line of fire!"

His brother was already on the move. Joe must have seen him making for cover.

Adam started as another shot came from overhead. It struck the rock wall beside him and ricocheted. He pivoted in time to see the silhouetted figure of a man raise his rifle, look along the sight, and take aim again. As the gunpowder flashed and the bullet roared out of the barrel, Adam turned back – just in time to see Joe jerk, spin, and fall into the pool of shadows at his feet.

"Good God!" the man in black breathed between clenched teeth.

Breathing hard Adam hugged the rock wall, careful to remain completely hidden. He considered his options – which were few – and then concluded that the only thing to do was to work his way along the rock face until he was close to the point where he had seen his brother fall, and then run like Hell across the open space remaining. It looked like there was a cave carved into the rock, though he couldn't be sure. That would explain how Joe had seemed to come out of nowhere.

Drawing a deep breath, Adam began to move.

As he worked his way forward he caught snatches of conversation floating down from above. ' _Do you think you hit_ _him?_ ' one man asked. ' _Can't let them escape_ ,' said another. And still another asked, ' _Where's the oldest one?'_

Adam halted. 'The _oldest_ one?'

Dear Lord! Could it be someone they knew?

The black-haired man halted and looked up again. In all there seemed to be four shadows moving along the ravine's edge some twenty feet up. Luckily, they didn't seem inclined to descend into the mud pit the ravine had become.

Misery had at least _one_ advantage it seemed.

Concerned for Joe, Adam prepared to move. Unfortunately, the moon had broken out of its bed of clouds a few minutes before and that meant he would be visible _and_ vulnerable as he sprinted across the open area before the cave. Jaw clenched, muscles tensed, the man in black prepared himself to make the dash, but stopped as a strange sound filled the air. It was something like the beating of a hundred bats' wings, and was followed by a loud snort and a low, long hiss. Adam saw the men on the ridge react. They pivoted and looked up even as a great black shadow blotted out the moon.

Adam stared a moment, mouth gaping, and then realized he needed to move. There wouldn't be a better opportunity than now. With one last glance at the sky he shot out of the darkness and dashed across the open space, entering the cave mouth just as four bullets struck the muddy ground outside it. Once inside he stood for a moment, catching his breath, and then returned to the entry and looked out. Joe wasn't there, so he had to be inside. Turning back Adam looked again, but saw nothing of his brother.

How could he have disappeared so quickly?

Moving into the cave Adam called, "Joe!", and listened as his brother's name echoed back from the depths of the cave.

 _Joe...Joe...Joe..._

He frowned and took ten steps forward.

"Joe!"

 _Joe...Joe...Joe._

Again the echo. Then, another sound.

Footsteps.

"Joe, thank God!" the black-haired man breathed in relief. "I was afraid you had been..."

Adam's voice trailed off. It wasn't Joe.

It was the old Indian.

The native held a sputtering torch that eerily illuminated his ancient figure. His body was twisted and bent to one side like a tree that had known blight but fought and struggled to survive. His skin and hair shone like gold, but Adam knew that was an illusion. That first day – when the Indian had led him to Joe and Hoss – he had noted how fair the man was and that his hair was white as snow. He wore a buckskin shirt and leggings now as he had then, along with a pair of knee-high moccasin boots.

The native lifted his free hand and gestured for him to follow.

"Do you have my brother?" the man in black asked.

Again, the Indian made a motion for him to follow. Then he turned and vanished, becoming one with the shadows at the back of the cave.

Left with little choice, Adam did the same thing.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

If he'd made a mistake in trusting the Indian, it was a _big_ one.

The native led him down and around, through the cave's dark corridors in such a way that it was doubtful he could find his way out on his own. When they had traveled about a quarter of an hour the man halted and pointed forward. In the distance Adam could see a new source of light. It flickered as if cast by a fire, throwing strange writhing shadows on the rocky floor. He followed the old man as he moved again, careful to stay close as they passed through an arch and plunged into pitch blackness. When they emerged, they were much closer to the light. A few more steps brought them to a small chamber. Adam realized as they entered the room that it must be the man's home. The open area was meagerly furnished with a plain chair and table as well as a rack that held tools and foodstuffs. Beside the rack there was a thick pallet of skins covered with blankets that served as a bed.

The pallet was occupied.

Adam darted across the chamber and knelt beside Joe, noting as he did that his brother's shirt was soaked through with blood on the upper left hand side. Gripping Joe's wrist with his fingers, he called him softly, "Joe."

There was no response.

"The bullet is still in him," the native said.

Adam pivoted sharply to look at him. "You speak English?"

"When I wish to," the Indian replied, his black eyes sparking in the fire's light.

"Why didn't you..." Adam sucked in air. He pursed his lips and then let the breath out slowly. "I'm sorry. Thank you. Thank you for leading me to my brother – twice."

The old man came to stand beside them. "The fiery one," he said, indicating Joe with a nod, "he knows no fear."

Adam snorted. "Yes. Unfortunately, he also knows no _sense_."

As he unbuttoned Joe's shirt and pulled the cloth away from the shoulder wound, his brother moaned and shifted. Gently Adam probed the bullet hole with his fingers, noting as he did the scar tissue he felt beneath his brother's tanned skin. This was not Little Joe's first shoulder wound. _If_ Joe lived to be an old man, there was going to be hell to pay for his reckless youth in more ways than one. When he finished examining the wound, Adam rocked back on his heels.

"I don't think the bullet's in too deep. The shot came from pretty far away. Still, I need to get it out." Adam rose. He drew his knife from his pocket and then turned back to the native. "Are we safe here? Those men were pretty desperate. They may try to find us."

Adam had crossed to the fire. He knelt beside it and held the knife over the flames, burning off anything impure. The bullet's entry had driven bits of cloth into Joe's wound and he was going to have to clean it before and after he took out the slug. It wasn't going to be pleasant for either of them.

The Indian shook his head. "Nenimkee will stop them."

 _Nenimkee?_ Adam thought a moment. The word was as unusual as the old man himself. His manner of dress, his coloring, his accent – none of these things reflected any of the Western tribes he knew. "May I ask who your people are?"

A sadness entered the native's eyes. "There is no one," he said. "Though once, many long moons ago, my people _were_ the Shawanoes."

"Shawanoes? You mean the Shawnee?" If that was the case, the old man was very far from his home. The Shawnee had been driven out of Ohio to Kansas first, and then a portion of the tribe had gone on to Oklahoma. The government was currently working toward an agreement between them and the Cherokee as to the portioning out of reservation land.

" _Your_ word, white man," the native answered, his tone taking on a hard edge for the first time.

Adam had finished cauterizing the knife. "I'm going to need water," he said as he rose, changing the subject.

The Indian stooped and picked up a pottery pitcher. Carrying it, he followed him to Joe's side.

Kneeling by his brother, Adam touched his face and tried again. "Joe? Joe, can you hear me?"

Joe drew a breath, moaned, and then one eye opened. A second later the other followed, and both focused on the knife. "You fixing to cut my throat, big brother?" he asked.

"No. Though I _should_ box your ears. What did you think you were doing, taking on that shooter by yourself?"

Joe's lips curled in a weak smile. "I figured you needed looking after."

"Well, next time, let me look out for myself." Turning to the Indian, he asked, "Do you have something Joe can bite down on?"

The native took a rattle with a long wooden handle from his belt and held it out to him. Adam recognized it as a ceremonial piece. It confirmed what he had thought before, that the Shawnee was most likely a medicine man.

"Thank you," he said as he accepted it and turned back to his brother. Joe was still staring at the knife, wide-eyed. Adam stifled a sigh. Every time he looked at Joe he couldn't help but see the little boy he had picked up and dusted off and set back on his feet a thousand times. It made plunging a hot knife into his flesh a hard thing to do. Locking eyes with him, he said, "This is going to hurt, Joe."

"Just get it over with," his baby brother growled.

Fearless Joe.

Adam looked up at the shaman. "Would you help me hold him down?" As Joe protested feebly he added, "Only ifit becomes necessary. Here, Joe, bite hard on this," he said as he placed the handle of the rattle between his brother's teeth.

It took two agonizing minutes to get the bullet out and then clean the wound. Joe tensed and bucked when the hot knife entered his flesh and then bore it all without a whimper. Of course, a minute and a half into it he passed out.

Blessedly.

Adam dropped the knife and then fell back into a seated position and ran his hands over his face. The old Indian regarded him for a moment before disappearing into the darkness that lined one wall of the chamber. When he returned he was carrying a skin filled with some kind of liquid.

"Here," the man said, holding it out. "Drink."

"What is it?" Adam asked as he accepted.

"Nenimkee's breath," the shaman answered, his face sober.

"Eh?" Adam uncapped the skin and took a whiff – which made him cough. "Whiskey?"

The native's lips curled slightly at the ends. "Your word, white man. Our word – fire water."

Adam snorted. _Fire_ – like a dragon – water. Lifting the skin, he took a swig and then recapped it. As he handed it back to the native, he said, "Thank you."

The shaman said nothing. He glanced at Joe, and then his dark eyes returned to him.

"Is something wrong?" Adam inquired.

The Indian paused. Then he said, "I would meet the man who has such sons."

Adam nodded. "Pa would like that. He'd like to thank you as well for helping us. Once we get out of here, why don't you come to the Ponderosa with us and you can – " He stopped. There had been a noise just without the chamber – a noise something like someone dragging boots over stone. It was accompanied by an odd clicking sound.

Adam's hand went for his gun.

The shaman placed his ancient one over it to stop him. In the firelight, the old man's eyes danced.

"Nenimkee," he said.

At that moment a great shadow eclipsed the entry to the chamber. There was a snort and a hiss.

And then darkness.

SIX

Deirdre Jenkins sat in the oh-so-lovely Great Room of Ben Cartwright's more than lovely home near the fire that was keeping her toasty warm. She held a newspaper she had picked up at the mercantile in her hand. It had another article about the giant bird that had been found dead in the California desert on its front page. It told how the learned men who had come to inspect the carcass thought the bird might be something from before history began – an ancient creature called a Pterodactyl. Or maybe, as one of them suggested, it was proof that the dragons their ancestors believed in were real.

After all, didn't the maps of antiquity warn, 'Here there be dragons'?

Deirdre sighed as she leaned back in the big blue velvet chair, thinking about times long ago. As a little girl she had dreamed of having a daring knight on horseback sweep her away to his castle where he would fight duels for her honor and slay the great wormlike dragons that threatened their kingdom. In Edinburgh and Philadelphia, it seemed such men didn't exist. Deirdre's eyes topped the edge of the paper she was reading and settled on Hoss Cartwright, who was sitting at the dining table cleaning his gun. What she'd missed in the East she had found in the West – men like Hoss and his brothers – men of action and courage who could, at one and the same time, be gentlemen as well.

 _Real_ men.

Her eyes still fastened on Hoss' strong form, Deirdre sighed.

"You needin' somethin', Miss Deid?" the big man asked almost immediately.

She liked the way he called her 'Miss Deid'. It made her smile. As she folded the paper in her lap, she replied, "Only your company, Hoss."

"Aw, shucks," Hoss said, and she knew he was blushing. "What you gotta go say somethin' nice like that for?"

Deirdre rose and crossed over to the table, paper in hand. "Because it's true. You are one of the sweetest – if not _the_ sweetest man I have ever met."

This time his ears turned a charming shade of red.

"Well, thank you Miss Deid, but – "

"No, it's true," she said as she slipped into the seat beside him that was usually occupied by Little Joe. Fiona was off pining somewhere over the youngest Cartwright. What her sister saw in that scrawny little thing when she had a strong solid man like Hoss to look at, she had no idea! "Back East, well, men are all manners but no meaning. ...If you take mine..."

His blond eyebrows peaked. "Take your what?"

She giggled. "My 'meaning', silly." Deirdre reached out and touched the big man's arm with her fingers. "Men there like to exercise their minds. Out here, well," she gave him a little squeeze, " _everything_ gets exercised."

The barrel of the gun struck the table. Hoss glanced at her with chagrin and then put the other part down beside it. His clear blue eyes were crisp as the early October morning outside. "Am I mistaken, Miss Deirdre, or are you flirtin' with me?" Hoss asked, a twinkle in those eyes.

She cocked her head, leaned her chin on her hand, and held his gaze. "Oh, I am most _definitely_ flirting."

Hoss rocked back in his chair. "Well, if that don't beat all! You mean you ain't interested in Little Joe or Adam? You're interested in plain old ordinary _me?"_

She took hold of his hand. "Hoss, there is nothing 'ordinary' about you. When you look at me, I know you see _me_. Little Joe – don't get me wrong, I like your brother – but he sort of looks _at_ girls. If you know what I mean."

He nodded. "How 'bout big brother?"

She shrugged. "Adam is nice looking, but he reminds me of the men back East. They think too much."

Hoss laughed. "That'd be Adam."

"It's like the story of the three bears," she said coyly. "You're the porridge that's _just_ right."

This time she thought the top might blow off of his head. "Now, Miss Deid, what would your pa say if he knew you was sayin' such things to a man who's practically a stranger?"

"Being 'forward', you mean?" She giggled again. "You should hear Da talk about how he and Mam met. "

Hoss stared at her. He had that look in his eyes a man gets when he wants to kiss you, but doesn't know if you'll kiss him back or slap his face because he tried. Deirdre stared back at him and leaned in. Just as their lips touched they heard the sound of approaching feet. Both of them drew back guiltily. Hoss returned to cleaning his gun. She opened her paper, raised it, and began to read.

"What you read, Missy Deid?" the Cartwright's cook, Hop Sing, asked as he began to clear the table of the remaining dishes. The Chinese man had spent the time since they had finished breakfast packing the picnic basket they would take to the lake with them later in the day.

She laid the paper on the table's checkered cloth. "There's a new article about the winged creature they found in the California desert."

Hop Sing grew suddenly serious. "You mean Mister Hoss' dragon?" he asked, pitching his voice low as if the mythic creature might be listening.

Hoss looked up at him. "You believe in dragons, Hop Sing?"

"Hop Sing believe," the cook nodded, adding gravely, "Hop Sing see one when boy."

The big man was instantly engaged. "You seen a dragon, Hop Sing? Where? How big was it?" Hoss swallowed. "Did it try to eat you?"

"Chiwen did not try to eat me, but he devour other creatures."

"Chigh-when," Hoss repeated. "What'd he look like, Hop Sing?"

"Big. _Very big!"_ Their cook used his hands to illustrate how big, flinging them wide. Then he lifted them to his ears and pulled out as if he ran his fingers along their invisible tips. "Chiwen have pointy ears, sharp paws, and belly of a snake. His harsh voice shake ground like thunder."

Deirdre listened with fascination. "You said you _saw_ this dragon when you were little?"

"Yes, pretty lady, Hop Sing see Chiwen when boy in China." He paused and then went on, as if seeing it again. "Large wind come. Lanterns on house rock from side to side. Suddenly, sky go black as dragon passes over belching fire!"

For a moment neither of them said anything, then Hoss slapped his hand so hard on the table it made her jump. " _Dag-blame it!_ That sounds just like what me and Joe saw out there on the range!"

Hop Sing's black eyes were round as marbles. "You think _you_ see Chiwen?"

"Well, if it weren't him, it was one of his brothers. You got more of them there dragons in China?"

"Many, many. Chiwen, Bixi, Yazi, Suanni, and more. Some friendly. Others fierce." His singsong voice fell to a whisper. "Others deadly."

Hoss' face was screwed up. He was thinking hard. "Look here, Hop Sing, why don't you come along with us and ride out there where Joe and Adam are. You can tell them you done seen one of them dragons. Maybe then, they'll believe there's somethin' out there we _gotta_ find."

"No _want_ to find dragon, Mister Hoss," the Chinese man said solemnly. "Chiwen _no_ want to be found."

"Well, we ain't gonna rope and hogtie him, that's for sure." He thought deeply again. "If you come along, you can tell Chiwen we ain't gonna hurt him. Since you speak his language, I mean." Hoss paused. "Dragons speak Chinese, right?"

Hop Sing was considering it. Deirdre rose and went over to where the cook stood. Reaching out, she touched his arm. "Yes, please come along. We could use your expert advice."

The Chinese man melted. He put his hand over hers. "For Missy Deid, Hop Sing come. But only _look_ for dragon."

Hoss had finished with his gun. He laid it on the tabletop and then rose. Crossing over to Hop Sing, he offered the cook his hand. "That's a deal, Hop Sing. Put her there!"

Hop Sing did. "How soon Mister Hoss want to leave?"

The big man glanced out the window. "Say, about an hour and a half. Joe and Adam are expecting us around noon and it'll take us a good three hours to get there by wagon."

"Hop Sing be ready. Bring much good food," the Chinese man nodded. "Bring special offering for Chiwen so he be happy."

"How 'bout a special offering for me?" Hoss asked, leaning in and making a fierce face. "I can get _mighty_ mean when I'm hungry too."

Hop Sing laughed. "Bring plenty. Fill Chiwen's belly _and_ Mister Hoss'." He shook his head. "Too bad. No food left for Little Joe and Adam."

"That's okay." The big man winked. "Joe's watching his figure and Adam plain lives on books. They'll be enough for the ladies, though?"

"Ladies eat small. Hop Sing have enough."

With that, the Chinese man returned to the kitchen.

"Well, Miss Deirdre," Hoss said, turning toward her. "Better get your huntin' bonnet on. We're off to find us a dragon!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright glanced at his old friend while appearing to survey the range of timber he had brought him out to see. Though Gil had said and done nothing to indicate it, he could tell something troubled the other man. It seemed only yesterday that they had served together in the army, but in fact something like thirty years had passed. In the intervening years they had seen each other perhaps a dozen times, and as much as he wanted to think otherwise, they were – in reality – practical strangers. Ben knew from his own life how the years could change a man, sometimes for the better, but often for the worse. Gil had taken Lydia's death hard. He knew as well how difficult it was to lose your life's mate. Still, each time he married he had shared only a few brief beautiful years with the one he had chosen. Gil and Lydia had been married nearly a decade and a half, and their lives had been woven together as the Creator intended.

Who was he to judge what that could do to a man?

Turning toward his friend he said, "You're very quiet."

Gil sighed. "Just considering the course my life has taken."

"Lydia?"

"In part. I ache for her every day." His old friend straightened up and rose from the boulder where he had been sitting. Approaching the edge of the hill they occupied, he went on. "But more than that, the choices I have made – the wise _and_ not so wise ones."

"We all make foolish choices. What's important is that we learn from them."

Gil looked over his shoulder at him. "You mean 'to rectify past blunders is impossible, but we might profit by the experience of them", as a great man once said?"

Ben recognized the quote. It was something George Washington had said to Fielding Lewis during one of the darkest hours of the Rebellion. "Yes. Exactly." He paused and then added, "I know it's none of my business, Gil, but does this have to do with one of the girls?"

Gil looked surprised. "The girls? No. They're the light of this old man's life." He shook his head. "No, this has to do with _me_. I can't go into it, Ben, but it's part of the reason I left Philadelphia."

"I figured as much," Ben replied with a nod. "Grateful as I am for the chance to visit with you at length, I didn't really think the promise of a few weeks at the Ponderosa would have drawn you and the girls all the way out here."

"It would have been worth it. Ben, the...peace I sense here, the incorruptible beauty..." His friend sighed. "It's enough to heal the soul if not _quite_ enough to rectify those past blunders," he added wryly.

The silver-haired man remained silent a moment before asking. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Gil turned and looked at him. His lips parted as if he might explain, but then he shook his head. "No. I made my bed and will have to lie in it once I return East."

"So you _are_ going back?" He had wondered if his friend might choose to stay in the West where a man, as well as his secrets, could become lost on the wide open range or in the dry desert sands.

"Once Fiona is grown, I might consider returning. Her life – all the girls' lives lay in the city. I can't take that from them."

"I imagine if you asked them, Gil, they would say _you_ are their life."

His old friend raised an eyebrow. "And were your boys to say the same, Ben, would _you_ do something so selfish?"

Ben grew sober. "I already have. The Ponderosa is my dream, but it's _their_ legacy. It binds them here whether they want it to or not."

"You're thinking of Adam, aren't you?"

He looked appalled. "Is it so obvious?"

"That a man of Adam's sensitivities could or _should_ be elsewhere? Yes." Gil crossed over to him and placed at hand on his shoulder. "But that he _belongs_ elsewhere? No, not that. Adam loves you and his brothers. He loves this land. It is just that he is...restless...as you and I were when we were young men." His friend drew in a breath. "It's what drove me to a career in the army and you eventually to one at sea."

What Gil said was true and one day that same restlessness would take Adam far away.

"So, Ben," the Scottish man said as he lifted his hand, "what other part of the great Ponderosa do you want to show me?"

The silver-haired man shook off his fears and replied. "I thought we might surprise the young people and join them for lunch. How does that sound?"

"I'd _like_ to see the lake – and visit Marie's grave, if you don't mind. I have fond memories of her. What a beauty!"

"Yes. And a handful, just like her son," Ben sighed.

Gil grinned. "Come to think of it, I don't remember a single letter from you where Joseph hadn't managed to find himself in some sort of trouble."

Ben laughed. "That's another reason I want to join in on the picnic. If trouble is around, it's sure to find Joe – with Adam running a close second."

"And you sent them out together?"

Ben laughed. "What was that you said about rectifying blunders?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright leaned heavily on the cane he held and peered into the bed of the wagon before him. "You think you got enough food in that there wagon, Hop Sing?" he asked the Chinese man as he walked toward him carrying yet _another_ basket. "Looks like you got enough there to feed the _whole_ Union army."

"Since when Mister Hoss complain about too _much_ food?" their cook demanded as he placed the basket in the wagon bed. "You no like so much food Hop Sing take it back!"

"Hey, now! I ain't complaining'. Just makin' an observation, you know?"

Hop Sing threw his hands up in the air. " _Too_ much food. Too _little_ food. _Too_ hot. Too _cold._ Cartwrights always find something to complain about!"

"Now, Hop Sing, you know that ain't true. Ain't we always tellin' you that you're the best dang cook west of the Mississippi?"

The Chinese man looked skeptical. "When you say that?"

"Last night at supper." As Hop Sing shook his head, he said, "Breakfast then. Maybe lunch?" The cook stared him down. "Well, dang it than, I'll say it now!" Hoss leaned his bulk and his cane against the wagon, spread out both arms, and then proclaimed in a voice that could out-shout a Baptist preacher, " _Hop Sing is the best dang cook west of the Mississippi!"_

His statement was followed by a round of applause.

Hoss turned to find Fiona, Deirdre, and Ainslee Jenkins standing on the porch. The girls were dressed in fancy frilly dresses just right for a picnic. Ainslee's was a rich blue, while Fiona's matched her hair and was cut from a burnt orange fabric. Deirdre wore green.

"Ain't you girls pretty as a speckled pup under a red wagon!" he declared. Turning to the Chinese man he asked, "Hop Sing, you leave any room in the back of the wagon box for this _here_ basket of pretty?"

"Plenty room for ladies. Hop Sing spread blankets in open space, make comfortable for ride."

"Whatever shall we do being escorted by two such gallant gentlemen?" Deirdre asked as she approached the wagon. She crossed over to where he was leaning and looked up at him. "Still, I was hoping I could ride up front with you."

Hoss hoped he wasn't blushing. "With this dag-blamed leg, Miss Deid, Hop Sing's gonna have to drive. I can put some weight on it now, but it ain't healed enough for me to work the brake. Not and be safe."

"I could drive and you could ride in the back with Deirdre," Ainslee suggested with a smile worthy of a matchmaker.

"You ever drive a wagon over the open range before?" Hoss asked, skeptical.

"No. But I have plenty of experience with horses. Riding is not something you do to get around in Scotland, it's a passion. And I drive our carriage frequently in Philadelphia. Trust me, I'll take bumps and pot holes and the occasional slinking snake over wall to wall rigs driven by men on a mission any day."

Hoss studied her for a moment and then smiled. "I'll bet you make 'em part to let you through."

Ainslee laughed. "I certainly do!"

Deirdre looked up at him and batted those long black eyelashes. " _Please_ , Hoss. You need to rest that leg if you are going to have any fun at the picnic."

The big man looked at the wall of women before him and thought there was nothing tougher – not Indians, not outlaws, not even Pa when he was riled – to face down. He turned to the Chinese man who had already climbed into the driver's seat. "What do you think about that, Hop Sing? Would you rather have this ugly mug sitting beside you for the trip or the pretty little lady here?"

"Hop Sing ride with Hoss before. Prefer pretty lady's _mug_ – and company," he answered with a grin.

Hoss frowned and shook his head slowly. "Well, if that don't beat all for the most ungrateful orneriest China man in all of Nevada." He glanced sideways at Deirdre. "I guess you and Fiona will just have to put up with me riding in back with you."

Deirdre laughed as she nodded toward the wagon. Fiona was already seated amidst the myriad of baskets filled with foodstuffs. She leaned on her hand and was looking south. As he watched, the redhead let out a long heartfelt sigh.

He looked at the brunette beside him. "She's got it _bad_ , ain't she?"

"When we Jenkins women set out cap for a man there's _no_ escape," she replied and then waited until he met her eyes.

And blushed again.

"Come on, Miss Deid," the big man said as he caught up his cane and linked his arm with hers. "Let's go see what younger and older brother is up to."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had rained the night before and, near the lake, everything was mud. As they approached the meeting place they had set with Joe and Adam, the wagon's wheels sunk into a rut and lodged there with the obstinacy of a hibernating bear. Normally Hoss could have pushed, pulled, or raised the wagon out of the muddy channel, but with his injured leg he wasn't worth much and so they were forced to abandon it and make the remaining part of the journey on foot. Each of them grabbed a basket or blanket or both before starting out. He figured his brothers was maybe twenty minutes away. Walking wasn't the easiest thing for him, but the day was turning out to be a pretty one and having a beautiful woman hanging on his arm did a lot to ease his pain. He and Deirdre fell into step just like Hop Sing and Ainslee did. Fiona trailed behind on her lonesome, bedeviling him with a myriad of questions about his baby brother. 

_Does Little Joe have a sweetheart? Does he like girls with red hair?_ _What does he like in a girl?_ _Does Joe like them sassy or sweet or somewhere in-between?_

On and on it went until Hoss was sure Fiona had enough information to write a book on his little brother. The big man was certain it would be a best seller.

With wimmen, of course.

The area around the lake was beautiful with its tall ranging pines and snow-capped mountainscapes, the brilliant water and bright blue sky. He and his brothers had agreed to meet at the rock formation where Adam had found him and Joe since they all knew precisely where that was. Traveling to it brought back painful memories for Hoss – it even set his leg to throbbing – but it wasn't enough to stop him. Besides, he was making _new_ memories.

This time Miss Deirdre was with him.

Ainslee halted and placed her basket on the ground. "Is this the right place?" she asked.

There was a high rock tower before him. Hoss scrutinized it and then nodded. "Looks like it. You see Adam or Little Joe?"

Hop Sing frowned. "No see Mister Joe _or_ Mister Adam. You sure this where you tell them to meet us?"

Hoss pointed. "You see that there stack of boulders? That's it." He looked around. The rolling land around them was silent and empty. He removed his hat and scratched his head. "I wonder where those two are?"

"Maybe go find cattle. Lose track of time," the Chinese man suggested hopefully.

"Maybe."

After telling the girls to stay put, and Hop Sing to keep watch over them, Hoss moved haltingly forward, counting on the cane to help him navigate the uneven land. It wasn't thirty seconds later that Deirdre was at his side, offering her hand.

"You oughta go back, Miss Deid," the big man said. "If there's trouble, I want you where it's safe."

"AndI want _you_ to come back. If there's trouble, you may need help," she said stubbornly.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I ain't expectin' no trouble. Those two probably just lost track of time like Hop Sing said."

The brunette met his gaze and held it. "You're a very bad liar."

He thought to counter that, but shrugged instead. "Pa always said he liked me best 'cause I couldn't get by with nothin'," he laughed.

"You're too good a man to be a good liar," she said, still staring at him. "Hoss..."

"Yes'm?"

Deirdre drew a breath and let it out very slowly as her blue eyes went wide. "I know it's not the place or the time and you're worried about your brothers," she said softly, "but..."

Rising up on tiptoe, she kissed him.

Hop Sing's voice parted them. "Mister Hoss find anything?" the Chinese man asked as he came into view.

Hoss blushed up to his eyebrows, deeply chagrinned. Here his brothers could be in a passel of trouble and he was spooning.

"Still lookin', Hop Sing," he replied. "I'll let you know in a minute." Turning to Deirdre – still stunned that a beauty like her would be interested in a plain old ordinary lummox like him – he said, "Miss Deirdre, you're a mighty fine woman and I'm pleased as punch you like me, but –"

"You need to look for your brothers." She smiled. "You're putting their welfare before your own. That just makes me love you more."

"Love?" he asked, not stunned but _stupefied_ this time.

The brunette nodded. Then, taking his hand, she said, "Let's go look for Joe and Adam."

It took them about three minutes to find a sign – and it wasn't good. Hoss heard a noise as they circled left of the rocks. It didn't take him long to realize that it was a horse neighing in the way they did when they were looking for other horses or people. He and Deirdre followed the sound and found Joe's Paint tethered to a tree. Not far away chowing down in a clump of tall grasses was Adam's reddish brown thoroughbred, Sport. Both horses were skittish, though they calmed when he spoke to them.

"What does it mean?" Deirdre asked.

"It means Joe and Adam made camp here like they said," he replied as he walked forward, searching the ground for more clues.

She frowned. "But there's nothing else. No bedrolls or campfire. That means they didn't sleep here... Doesn't it?"

Hoss was afraid that was _exactly_ what it meant. Something must have come up unexpectedly that had drawn his brothers away. Leaning on his cane for support, Hoss began to move out in an ever-widening circle. When he reached the back of the tower of rocks, he stopped dead. He turned and reached out for Deirdre, hoping to keep her from seeing what lay behind it, but it was too late. She saw it and screamed.

Bringing Hop Sing, Fiona, and Ainslee running.

"What is it?" Ainslee asked, breathless.

"Is it Joe?" Fiona inquired.

"You find Mister Adam or Mister Joe?" Hop Sing queried, fear rattling his voice.

Deirdre was in his arms and she was shaking. He held her tight as he replied.

"It ain't Joe or Adam," the big man said. "But whoever it is, he's dead." 


	3. Part Three

SEVEN

Adam stared at the Indian shaman and then walked deliberately to the passage and stepped into it. He thought he heard the whisper of wings on stone and saw something large disappear into the pit of shadows to the right – still, he couldn't be certain. The man in black advanced a few feet into the darkness, but it was so Stygian he feared he would get lost and so he turned back. As much as he wanted to understand what was going on here, there was Joe to think about – Joe who was injured and could easily develop an infection. He had to get him out of this place, past the men who had tried to kill them, and home, where a doctor could tend him.

Thenhe would come back and figure out what the _Hell_ was going on.

Upon his return he found their rescuer kneeling at Joe's side. The native was applying some kind of poultice to his brother's wound. Joe shifted and moaned as he did – which was a good sign – thought the sooner Joe awakened, the sooner he would be in pain and there was precious little _anyone_ could do to alleviate it.

"What's that?" Adam asked as he came to the old man's side.

The native continued his work. "White eyes call it 'Yarrow'."

The black-haired man moved to Joe's other side and took a seat on the floor. The native had made a paste of the plant and piled it on a leaf. Yarrow was powerful. The scientists called it _Achillea millefolium_ , after the Greek warrior Achilles.

"Yarrow? I've heard the Paiute use that for wounds. I take it the Shawnee do as well?"

The old man reached into the pot beside him, gathering more of the potent stuff in his fingers and placing it on a second leaf. He nodded but said nothing.

Adam watched him work for a moment. "Thank you again. You didn't have to help us – now or before."

The native rocked back on his heels. He studied Joe for a moment and then looked at him. "Do not thank me. Thank _Mise Manito_."

"Mise Manito?"

The shaman raised his arms and opened them wide as he looked up reverently. " _Mise Manito_."

God.

"My God and your God have different names," Adam said softly, "but they are one and the same. I do thank Him for our paths crossing, and for your kindness." The man in black paused as he studied the native's face. He read conflicting emotions there. For some reason, the Indian had helped them even though it was obvious he did not like – or maybe ' _trust'_ was a better word – white men. He seemed to have a particular interest in Joe. Maybe _that_ was why he had helped.

Maybe his motives weren't entirely altruistic.

Adam pursed his lips and held out his hand. "I've forgotten my manners. We haven't been introduced. My name is Adam. Adam Cartwright. This is my younger brother, Joe." He hesitated, knowing a native's name _was_ his identity and was not readily given to strangers. "May I ask by what name you are called?"

The old man's eyes misted over. "I am no one. Long ago I was called 'Many Marks'. You may call me this if you wish."

"Thank you, Many Marks," Adam said.

As he spoke, Joe stirred and moaned. A second later his brother opened his eyes. They closed again momentarily as he winced with pain, and then reopened with a little more focus. Glancing around, Joe asked, "Adam, where are we?"

Adam gave Joe's good shoulder a little squeeze. "Safe, Joe. We're safe for the moment."

"What about... What about the shooter?"

"You took him out." He sighed. "The trouble is, you almost took _yourself_ out too. Do you remember going over the edge into the ravine?"

His little brother's face scrunched up like it had when, as a little boy, he had tried to work a complicated sum. "Kind of..."

"Being the impulsive idiot you are, you climbed the tower and tackled him. Both of you fell. He ended up worse off than you." He paused. "I had to leave him behind once I realized you were missing."

Joe was still frowning. "Those men... They followed us...didn't they?"

"Yeah. That's how you were shot." He looked up at the native. "Many Marks found us and brought us here."

"Where's.. _.here?"_ Joe asked.

Adam raised his eyebrows, inquiring of their host.

Many Marks pulled what was left of Joe's battered and torn shirt over the area of the poultice and then rose to his feet. "One of the lake caves," he said as he returned to the fire.

"I followed you down into the ravine," Adam prompted. "You came out of the cave to warn me about the men who were hunting us. Don't you remember?"

Joe was fading. He blinked languidly and fell silent for several heartbeats before murmuring. "Mmmm...no..."

"It will come back tomorrow. Now, you get some sleep. You're going to need your strength if we're going to get you back home."

Joe nodded marginally and was out like an extinguished candle.

Adam remained where he was for a moment and then rose to his feet and crossed to the fire where Many Marks knelt. He waited until the man looked up to ask, "Are we safe here tonight?"

The older man was stirring something. Maybe more medicine. "Nenimkee keeps watch," he replied. "You are safe."

The man in black glanced toward the passage. "What did I see out there? What exactly _is_ Nenimkee?"

"He is the Thunderbird."

Right.

Adam closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, suddenly realizing just _how_ exhausted he was. He had no idea what time it was or whether it was day or night outside. In the depths of the cave there was no time, only darkness and silence.

"Adam Cartwright should sleep," Many Marks said without looking up. "Sleep like Fiery One. Gather strength. When Nenimkee calls you must be ready."

All he was ready for was to drop where he stood.

With a nod, Adam headed back to where Joe lay. Catching one of the blankets from the cave floor, he wrapped it about his body and then laid down, pressing up against his little brother and taking him in one arm.

Then he fell into a deep troubled sleep fraught with dark, winged shadows.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"You see anything?" a gruff voice asked.

The man who was being asked lowered the binoculars he held. They'd made it to the bottom of the ravine and he had been looking ahead, searching for the missing member of their party. He blinked once or twice and then raised his black hat. After running a hand through his iron-red hair, he turned and fixed the short stocky blond man beside him with a black stare.

"I can see plenty, Lane, but it isn't what I _want_ to see."

"Did you find Mace?"

The redhead sighed. "Well, now, seeing as he's my baby brother and he's missing, don't you think that would be what I _wanted_ to see?"

"Sorry, Pres."

"Sorry is no excuse for stupid," Prescott Catterson snapped as he replaced the hat, careful to anchor it over the field of white hairs sprouting above both ears. "Or for failing to follow orders. I expressly told you I did not want _either_ of the Cartwright men killed."

"Now, Pres, you know it was dark. I meant to scare him." Lane swallowed hard. "At least I only winged him."

"Did you? He could be dead. Or halfway there due to infection."

"You don't know that."

Prescott's jaw tightened. "I _do_ know it. Just like I _know_ something's wrong with Mace. He should have returned by now." He looked hard at the blond man. "If anything's happened to my brother, Lane, because of your lack of discipline, you're _next."_

"Now that ain't fair, Pres, and it ain't gonna work. You need me – "

"I don't need anyone or anything," he replied, his tone clipped and all business. "Except the head of Gilchrist Jenkins on a platter. And to get him, I need Adam and Joe Cartwright alive."

" _A...alive?_ " Lane stuttered. "But I talked to Mace afore he went. He said he was going to kill them."

Prescott snorted. "Mace and I had a difference of opinions. I told him to wait until we could all go, and he went ahead without orders. Obviously he failed to take either of them since we saw both Adam and Joe Cartwright go into that cave." He drew a breath and let it out slowly. "The trick is to get control of Joe. _That_ way we control Adam."

Lane frowned. "How come?"

The redhead scowled. "Some brothers actually love each other and would do anything for each other – unlike you and Burley. Adam will do anything to keep his brother alive." Prescott Catterson looked out over the land surrounding them. "Just like I'd do anything for Mace."

"I'm sure Mace's okay, Pres," Lane assured him.

Prescott's jaw tightened. "He'd better be. If I find out one of the Cartwrights killed Mace, there'll be Hell to pay."

"You gonna kill them then?"

The redhead noted the bloodlust in Lane's eyes. He and Burley were good men, but they were quick on the trigger and they _liked_ killing – especially Burley. He'd have to watch them if he wanted to keep Ben Cartwright's sons alive.

Lane cleared his throat. "Pres..."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

The redhead shrugged.

"What _is_ your scheme _?_ "

Prescott sighed. "I suppose you aren't going to stop asking until I tell you. Like I said, I intend to hold one or both of the Cartwrights hostage against their father's cooperation."

"I thought you said you were gonna take one of the Jenkins girls. Ain't that what Mace wanted to do?"

That plan had been suggested, but he was against it – for several reasons. "No. It's better to take one of the Cartwrights."

"Why is holding a Cartwright better than taking one of Gil Jenkins' girls? Wouldn't their pa do anything to get them back?"

Prescott scowled. "Use your _head_ , Lane. If we kidnap one of the girls we'll have the whole of Virginia City, if not the whole of _Nevada_ after us. Ben Cartwright can raise a posse in a heartbeat and he'll have the law backing him. There is no surer way for a man to be lynched before he has time to be hanged than by taking a woman hostage." He paused. "Instead, if we hold Adam or Joe or both, and tell Ben Cartwright that they'll _die_ if he says anything to anyone or goes to the law, he'll persuade Jenkins for us. Therefore, there will be no posse and no law."

Lane whistled. "That's right smart, Pres. No wonder you were a teacher once."

Prescott closed his eyes. That had been long ago – before he became the man he was now. "I _am_ right smart," he snarled. "And don't you forget it. I can think circles around you and your brother combined." As Lane blanched, Pres indicated the land before them with a nod. "Now, let's get going."

"What about Mace?"

Prescott Catterson pursed his lips and blew out a sigh. "Burley and the others are looking for Mace. They know what they're doing." He gripped his rifle tight.

"We have other things to do."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam opened his eyes. For a moment he was disoriented. This was _not_ his bedroom at the Ponderosa, so where was he? A second later he felt his little brother's chest rise and fall beneath his hand and he remembered. Joe had been shot. An old Indian had helped them. They were in the cavern that was his home.

They had to _get_ home.

Unloosing his grip on his brother, Adam sat up and stretched out the ache of sleeping on a cold stone floor. Then he stood and looked around for their host.

Many Marks was gone.

Taking advantage of the situation, the man in black explored the natural chamber that housed them, moving from one end to the other and looking at the items it contained. They were sparse. Many Marks' home had the feel of a man who either believed he deserve to be punished, or who was punishing himself. Like an aesthetic, there was nothing here that went beyond bare survival. Well, no, there was _one_ thing. It hung on the extended part of the rack near the pallet Joe now occupied.

A colorful beaded necklace, too small for an adult but just right for a child.

As he fingered it, thinking, Joe shifted and moaned.

Dropping to his knees beside his brother, Adam placed a hand on Joe's forehead, checking for fever. It was there but it was low and, for the time, manageable. His brother's eyes worked to open, the balls rolling behind the lids a few times before they made it. He was relieved to see the look out of them was lucid.

"Welcome back," he said softly.

Joe winced. He shifted uncomfortably and then licked his lips. "Can I have some water?" he asked weakly.

Why hadn't he thought of that? Kicking himself, Adam rose quickly and crossed to the fire where Many Marks kept his pots and jars and found one that contained water. He poured a horn cup full and returned to Joe's side. Gently lifting his brother's head, he held it to his lips and then lowered him back to the rough pallet when he had finished.

"Better?"

"Mm-hm." Joe frowned again, and then tried to rise.

"Hey, you! Stay put. You've got a hole in your shoulder."

"A hole...? Oh, that's right. Someone shot me." Joe fell back. He blinked again as if clearing away a fog, and then his eyes roamed around the space they occupied. "That old Indian. He took us in."

"Yes." Adam studied his brother. Whether he was well enough or not Joe would say he was ready and able to travel when he asked him. The bullet had not gone in deep, but there had been some threads driven in with it. He'd also cleaned mud and sand from the wound. Contamination and infection were possible, if not probable. The kid had a slight fever and was pale. He'd lost a lot of blood. The best thing would be to leave Joe here and go back on his own for help. The best thing, but not the _practical_ thing.

Joe would never stay put.

"Look, Joe," he began, "I need to get you home where the Doc can take a look at that shoulder. I did my best, but the wound isn't clean. Odds are you've got a day before some kind of infection sets in. The trouble is, we have no horses and no extra ammunition. You're wounded and we're in the middle of nowhere. Plus we have a band of outlaws on our backs looking to kill us."

Joe smiled that smile he had – the reckless 'risk is my middle name' one. "Sounds like the picnic we were planning on having today, big brother."

"Joe, this is serious."

His brother snorted. "Everything's serious with you, Adam," he muttered as his eyes closed and he slipped toward sleep.

He felt like a louse, but he couldn't let him get there.

"Joe, stay awake. Joe!" he insisted as he shook him. When Joe scowled and looked at him, he said, "We need to leave. _Now_. The minute it's light those men will be down in the ravine tracking us. We don't want to get cornered here. Now, come on," he said as he slipped an arm around Joe's shoulders and began to lift him.

Sometimes it surprised him how slender and light Joe was. Still, every ounce of what his baby brother was made of must have been steel because – in spite of that – he had seen him take on men twice his size in a fight and win, and watched him rope and brand steers and handle powerful horses. Joe's mother had been the same – small, determined, strong-minded.

And short- _lived_.

He had found Joe's gray jacket in his wandering and laid it close by. As he pulled it on over the wreck of what was left of his brother's light-colored shirt Joe cried out. Adam drew a breath. There was nothing to it but to finish.

"Hang on, Joe. I know it hurts, but it will hurt worse if those men find us here."

Joe was breathing hard. His teeth were firmly clamped in his lower lip and there were unspent tears in his eyes. He nodded.

"That's great, Joe. Now let's see if you can stand."

His brother wobbled a bit, but managed it.

Adam left him there, partly to see if he could stay upright and partly because he had things to do. Moving around the cave he quickly filled a leather pouch he had found with food, leaving a few dollars on a shelf to cover it. At the last moment he added a small horn cup filled with the potion Many Marks had put on Joe's shoulder wound. Unfortunately, there was nothing resembling a canteen.

They would be without water until they could find some and that was not a good thing.

After anchoring the bag across his chest, Adam returned to Joe who was still on his feet, if looking a bit peaked. As he slipped his arm around his waist and Joe looped his good one over his shoulder, he asked him, "You ready?"

Joe nodded. "Let's go home."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Once outside Adam's suspicions were confirmed. The new day _had_ dawned. In fact, it was just past noon by the sun. Though he didn't see any sign of the men who had attacked them, he knew the outlaws had had plenty of time to backtrack and work their way down. They might arrive any minute. It was imperative that he quickly find a way up and out of the ravine that Joe could handle. Knowing Many Marks had come and gone several times in the course of the time they had spent with him, he was sure there was one close by.

"You wait here, Joe," he said as he leaned his brother against the rock wall beside the cave's entrance.

"Not even a pretty girl could make me stir," his brother replied with a forced wink.

Adam nodded. Then he sighed.

This was _not_ going to be easy.

Leaving Joe behind, the man in black searched the area near the cave's mouth. Most of the wall that hemmed them in was rock, but there were places where an abundant and obstinate weed clung, obscuring its uneven face. Two places in particular were thick with it. Adam headed for the closest one and was rewarded by the discovery of a natural stone stair. The steps were uneven and wouldn't be particularly easy for Joe to navigate, but it could be done.

When he returned to his brother's side he found Joe sitting on the ground. Crouching before him, he reached out and pressed his palm against his forehead. Joe batted it away, but not quickly enough.

"Your fever's higher," he pronounced.

Joe scowled. "Just you stop worrying," he ordered, mustering a little fire. "And stop treating me like a baby!"

Adam pursed his lips. "Oh. I'm sorry. Is that what I'm doing?" He rose to his feet and began to walk away. "Very well. The way out is over here. I'll just wait for you at the bottom of the stair, shall I?"

The sounds he heard behind him were painful. Joe trying to rise. Joe's boots slipping on the pebbles and mud. Joe falling back to the wet earth with a grunt.

Still, he kept walking.

When he reached the bottom of the stair, Adam turned around. Joe was halfway up the rock face again, panting hard and wasting energy that he would need for the trip home.

With a shake of his head he crossed his arms, leaned back against the stone, and waited.

Haltingly, like a man too long in the desert, his little brother dragged himself across the short space to where he stood. Joe stopped and rested for a moment – filthy, bloody, ragged, breathing hard, half-dead _and_ triumphant – then he moved past him and looked up the stair.

Adam heard him gulp.

"I thought you could go first," he said, hiding his amusement.

Joe shot him a look, uncertain whether he was still being 'babied' or whether he was trusting him to lead. A second later he began to climb.

Adam watched his determined younger brother work his way up, leaning against the rock wall and steadying himself with his good hand. Perspiration turned the back of his gray jacket black as they climbed and Joe teetered more than once on the natural stone steps before pressing on.

His brother would be annoyed if he knew. He wasn't babying him _or_ trusting him.

He just wanted to be behind Joe to catch him when he fell.

EIGHT

Hoss stood back and stared at the triangle-shaped pile of mid-size rocks before him. He removed his hat, wiped his forehead free of perspiration, and then kept hanging onto it. With a frown, he let his eyes travel over the circle of solemn faces surrounding him and then he finished speaking.

"Lord, we don't know who this here man was that we found, but You do. We'd be right grateful if'n You know him that You'd take him to Your bosom and keep him there." The big man paused. "Would anyone else like to say anything?"

Fiona looked stricken. Ainslee shook her head. Deirdre, who was standing at his side, crossed herself. In the end, it was Hop Sing who stepped forward. The Chinese man held his arm out over the cairn and opened his hand. In it was a portion of earth.

"In China man who has died is prayed for and then ground is sprinkled over him." Hop Sing let the loose earth trickle through his fingers. It rained down on the stones they had placed over the dead man to protect his corpse from animals. "He with Ch'eng Huang now. May he be found virtuous and go to dwell with the immortals."

"It's the same here, Hop Sing." Hoss bent down. Picking up a handful of dirt, he added it to what the Chinese man had already put there. "Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

"Who do you think he was?" Deirdre asked. "And why was he out here?"

Hoss shook his head, though he thought he might have an idea. "I'm afraid there ain't no way of telling, Miss Deid. Not 'til we find time to go to Virginia City and ask around."

They'd found some papers in the man's pocket. One was a bill of sale. It had been signed by Mace Prescott and so that was the name Hoss had carved on the plank of wood he'd stuck in the muddy ground at the head of the grave. Looking at the makeshift headstone now, sitting there so lonely and forlorn, made his stomach sink. It could just as easily have been Joe or Adam someone found lying out here. The thought of one of his brothers dead and buried by strangers, their last resting place marked by a bit of wood that would disappear with the first snow – their fate never to be known – was enough to make him crazy.

Hoss looked up toward the hills. Where were they? Why weren't they _here?_

"What next, Mister Hoss?" Hop Sing asked. "We go look for Mister Adam and Little Joe?"

The big man's gaze went to the women. Without a working wagon there was no way he could get all of them back to the ranch and safety. They had Adam and Joe's horses, as well as the one that had been pulling the wagon, but then he couldn't let all of the animals go. One or both of his brothers could be hurt and an extra horse might mean the difference between life and death. Hoss scowled. If he sent two of the horses with two riders each on their backs, Hop Sing could take all the girls. The Chinese man could tell Pa what had happened and come back with the older man and a search party.

Then again, that left him – a lame man – alone on ground he couldn't really cover by hisself. There weren't much he could do on his own seeing as how he had to lean on a cane.

"A penny for your thoughts," Deirdre said softly.

"They ain't worth that much, Miss Deid, it bein' that I can't seem to make up my mind."

"About?"

He winced, knowing what he said would bring a backlash. "About you and your sisters."

She blew out a little breath. "You want to send us back to the ranch, don't you?"

"You see, that's the problem. I don't rightly _want_ to, but I sure as shootin' think I should." Hoss shook his head. "It's just ain't safe out here."

Deirdre turned and looked at the cairn they had raised. "You're worried that man had something to do with Adam and Little Joe's disappearance, aren't you? And that there might be more like him?"

He nodded. "I couldn't of put it better myself, Miss Deid. And you see, with that there kind of man around, it just ain't safe for you and your sisters to be out here."

She glanced at his cane. "But it's safe for you? Alone? Or are you thinking of having Hop Sing stay?"

"No. I'll need him to escort you." At her dubious look he added, "Hear me out. It ain't only that I'm worried about three women traveling alone – though I am. Pa needs to know that Adam and Joe are missing, and I need men to help search for them. Hop Sing can ride out for the men while Pa heads this way."

Deirdre took his hand and looked up at him, those crystal clear blue eyes so wide he thought he might sink in them. "Let me stay with _you_ ," she pleaded.

"Now see here, Miss Deid, you cain't rightly do that. Without Hop Sing here, it... Well, it wouldn't be proper."

"You mean I have my reputation to worry about? Pshaw! I don't care what other people think."

"You should," he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Life ain't easy for nobody, but it's right harder for women folk, what with having babies and taking care of us pigheaded men. And it _ain't_ fair. A man can be alone with a woman and no one pays him no never mind, but the lady..."

Deirdre smiled. "You are _so_ sweet. And such a gentleman."

"I thank you for that, Miss Deid, but that don't help me make the decision. Either you all stay, or you all go. And I guess, as I'm kind of in charge, it's up to me to decide which you do."

"Let me talk to Ainslee and Fiona and see what they think." She laughed. "You know, if we all decide to stay, I don't know that you can make _any_ of us go."

"You cain't go traipsing all over these hills looking for Adam and Joe," he insisted, indicating her long flowing gown. "You ain't dressed for it for one."

She scowled at the ample fabric. "I guess you're right about that. Still, we can cook and keep a base camp while you and Hop Sing go looking."

"And that'd leave you ladies _alone._ I cain't do that," he protested. "You wouldn't have no one to protect you."

Deirdre's hands went to her hips. "I assure you, we can look out for ourselves as we have to do in the city. Do you know what Ainslee keeps tucked in the top of her corset?" she asked as if it was the most natural question in the world.

Hoss blushed right up to the top of his ears.

The brunette laughed. "Not _that!_ She keeps a Philadelphia derringer there. You know, Hoss, we may not have reptiles that slither on the ground, but there are _plenty_ of snakes back East."

Hoss didn't say what he was thinking – that putting one of them there tiny little snub-nosed pistols up against a Colt or a Henry rifle was kind of like a furry white bunny rabbit taking on a hungry coyote. He winced again. "You may have snakes, but we got rattlers. They strike _before_ you can draw." He caught her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "And I just can't take that chance."

She was looking up at him and her lips were awful tempting.

"Mister Hoss! Mister Hoss! Come quick!"

Hoss drew himself away. "What is it, Hop Sing?"

"Missy Fiona! She go missing!"

Beside him Deirdre drew a sharp breath. She shook her head. "I should have known."

He frowned at her. "You don't think...?"

The brunette sighed. "I don't think, I _know._ She's gone after Little Joe."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ainslee Jenkins stood a little ways removed from the others, watching Ben Cartwright's middle son react to the news of her youngest sister's disappearance. She should have kept a closer eye on Fiona. Her little sister had been a handful from the day she was born and had spent more hours in the corner with her nose pressed against the wall than she and Deirdre combined. Fee's personality was a fiery as her hair, and once she got a notion in her head there was very little anyone could do to dispel it. She'd mentioned earlier how worried she was about Little Joe, but it had seemed that vague sort of worry anyone has when someone has gone missing. It had never occurred to her that her sister – city born and civilization reared – would be _so_ smitten with a cowboy that she would take off into the wilderness in pursuit of a man she barely knew. Still, it seemed the Cartwright men had that effect on women. Deirdre had obviously fallen for Hoss. It appeared she was the only one who was immune – or mostly immune. Adam was remarkably handsome and debonair. Still, she though she might flirt, she had absolutely no intention of falling in love with him or any man. She'd done that once long ago.

With the wrong man.

When their father proposed coming to Nevada she had jumped at the chance to leave the world she knew behind and go somewhere fresh and new. Though it had been many years since her brief stay at the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania, where she had been involved with him, the East was ripe with unpleasant memories. Their romance had ended at his instigation and it had ended badly. She'd returned home to her father and sisters and never told one of them about it. The man she loved had been one of her professors, an older man with a military background. He had a less than sterling reputation which she found, in the end, to be well deserved. Just before they left Philadelphia, one of her former classmates had come for a visit and told her the truth. The man's sole purpose in courting her had been to get to her father. Apparently he blamed him for something that had happened during the war with Mexico. Her friend didn't know what, but warned her to be wary.

That was another reason she had been happy to come out West.

'Had been' being the operative phrase.

Ainslee shivered as she turned away from Deirdre and Hoss and her gaze went to the cairn they had raised. She had been dishonest with Hoss. She hadn't said anything, but she knew the man they had buried. She knew him _well._ The fact that Mace was here was disturbing. It meant that, most likely, his older brother was too.

The beautiful blonde woman crossed her arms and hugged herself against the truth she was afraid to face. Prescott Catterson was here – and, most likely, he had Adam and Little Joe and intended to use them in some way to force her father to do whatever it was he had wanted him to do for so long. She didn't know it for certain, of course, but it seemed too much of a coincidence – that Mace would show up and two of Ben Cartwright's sons would go missing.

"Aine!"

She started guiltily. Deirdre and Hoss were headed her way. As they drew alongside her, Deid inquired, "No sign of Fiona?"

She shrugged. "You know Fee."

"How'd she get away from you?" the big man asked.

"She went to the wagon to bring back more of the food. When she didn't return, I went looking and couldn't find her."

"You let her go to the wagon alone?" Hoss was astonished. "Whatever for, Miss Ainslee? She might of got herself kidnapped!"

"I gave her my revolver and she's a good shot," she countered, trying to convince herself as much as the big man. "Fiona can take care of herself."

Hoss looked sick.

"What is it?" Ainslee asked.

He swallowed hard. "You ain't got no idea how many times I said that about my little brother right afore he stumbled into a _mess_ of trouble."

Hop Sing had followed close on their heels. The Chinese man pointed at Hoss and then at himself. "You and me, we go look for Missy Fiona, Mister Adam, and Little Joe?"

The big man ran a hand across his face to wipe away the worry.

The list was getting long.

Hoss thought a moment. "You and me, Hop Sing, we gotta go, but I think the girls gotta go too. We cain't leave them here alone. It's too dangerous."

"I agree," Ainslee said, "but not for your reasons. Fee is stubborn as a big city banker denying a loan. She won't listen to you, but she _might_ listen to me." She sighed. "Typical of Fee, she wins no matter what."

"What do you mean?" the big man asked.

"She wanted to go look for Little Joe. Now we'll _all_ be looking for him!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Whatever was wrong with everyone? How could they all stand there, talking and debating about what to do, when they knew Little Joe – and Adam too – was in trouble? Someone had to take matters into their own hands and get things rolling and she'd decided she was the one! After convincing Ainslee that they needed something they'd left behind in the wagon, she'd pretended she was headed there, but in reality had turned and traveled south in the direction Hoss was certain his brothers had gone.

Fiona glanced up as she worked her way through the rough and tumble landscape. The light was fading. In a few hours the sun would set and it would be dark. She knew she couldn't go on much further by herself, but she'd pushed hard and made it as far as she could, knowing the others would _have_ to come after her. Hoss and Deirdre had been talking low, so they thought no one would hear. The big man was worried about his brothers, but he was even more concerned about _them_ – and just because they were women! Well, she'd show him.

Now he'd have to let them help!

It was funny. She remembered the first time she'd seen a likeness of the Cartwright boys. Their father, Ben, had sent a daguerreotype to her father along with a letter. The image had been taken when Joe was around ten or eleven years old. At the time she'd thought he was just a skinny gawky boy and had considered Adam the fine-looking one. All of that had changed when they arrived at the ranch. Not only was Joe all grown up and handsome _as_ handsome, but he had the most winning smile and the cutest way of scrunching up his nose when he was worried – and that curly brown hair... Fiona fanned herself, all but overcome. Maybe if she rescued him, he'd pay attention to her. Oh, he'd been polite, but Joe was either not interested or thick as a brick.

She'd certainly given him enough signals to land a clipper ship on a foggy night.

As she rounded the next pile of rocks – it seemed the land was made of them – Fiona paused to shove a cascade of red curls out of her eyes. The land before her was desolate and empty with one exception, a spiral of smoke riding the wind and rising high into the sky. It looked like whatever – and whoever – made it was maybe a half mile away. Fiona blew out a breath and chewed her lower lip. It was probably Joe and Adam. After all, who else would be out here? Maybe one of the Ponderosa ranch hands, but then, that would be okay too. Her father told her Ben only hired honorable men. From what Hoss had said earlier, she thought she might be near the cave he and Joe had holed up in – the one where the Indian man had taken them to heal. The redhead glanced at the sky again. By the time she got there, it would be dark, but if she was with Adam and Joe, she'd be safe, even _if_ the others didn't come looking or didn't catch her up.

Fiona Jenkins gnawed her lip a few seconds more and then, with a grin of anticipation, struck out to find whoever it was who had built the fire.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd been in pickles before, but if this wasn't the stickiest, darndest, flat-out most exasperating one he had ever been in, he'd eat his hat. And his hat was a _big_ one!

Wimmen!

Hoss shot Hop Sing a hopeless look. The Chinese man nodded and let loose a long line of foreign talk that probably meant that this was the stickiest, darndest, flat-out most exasperating day he had ever had too. Since he couldn't move very fast, the two of them were trailing behind Ainslee and Deirdre who were in full feminine protection mode. Somewhere out there was their sister and they were going to move Heaven and Earth to find her. Nothing would stop them and nothing was allowed to get in their way, and that included him and Hop Sing. It made him feel kinda bad that he wasn't so hell-bent to find Joe and Adam, but then again, he knew his brothers could look out for themselves.

Somehow, though, he thought these here three sisters might just be able to do that too.

"Ainslee!" Hoss called out to the eldest of the Jenkins' girls. "Ainslee! Wait up!"

Hands on hips, the striking blonde turned to look at him – and then promptly disappeared into the trees.

"Dad blame it!" The big man looked at his companion. "Well, if that don't beat all!"

The Chinese man nodded solemnly. "Women the same no matter where or when," he said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mister Hoss, ancient Chinese proverb say, 'First decision woman make most intelligent, and last decision, most dangerous."

He thought it over. "Them there ancient Chinese were right smart men," Hoss sighed. "They say anything else?"

Their cook nodded again. "Curious woman capable of turning around rainbow just to see what on other side."

"And that don't say nothin' for one who's curious 'cause her little sister done run off into a territory filled with wild animals and wilder men!" The big man glanced down. "If'n it weren't for this blasted leg, I'd catch up to that oldest one and hogtie her!"

"Mister Hoss should be off of leg," Hop Sing said matter-of-factly. "Make much trouble for self later on."

He made a face. "That ain't near the trouble I'm gonna have if I gotta go back and face Pa with one or more less Jenkins' girls than I oughta!"

The Chinese man considered it. "Mister Ben mighty angry. Bellow and blow like a bull."

"You got that right, Hop Sing. Now come on, let's see if we can catch 'em before nightfall." Hoss started to limp forward, then he stopped and looked at his companion. "You got any more of those China sayings that might help?"

The cook looked after the women. " 'No zuo, no die'," he said.

"Huh?"

Hop Sing frowned. "Best translation? You no do stupid things, they no come back to bite rear in end."

For a second he didn't get it. Then Hoss let loose with a belly laugh. Clapping the Chinese man on the shoulder, he said, "Come on, Hop Sing, as my _Pa_ always says, "When your horse is on the brink of a precipice, it's too late to pull in the reins!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Fiona stood motionless within a clump of thick trees, staring at the thin column of smoke rising before her. It was not coming from a cave or even an area close to one, but from the top of a ridge that fell off sharply into a deep ravine. She'd almost tumbled into it earlier. Glancing at the shambles of her burnt-orange dress, she imagine the tangled mess her copper curls must be and knew she had to resemble a scarecrow. When she found Little Joe, she was going to look more like a tomboy who'd been rolling in the dirt than a respectable woman.

Fiona's pretty lips quirked at the ends.

Hopefully Joe _liked_ tomboys betterthan respectable women.

She knew she should move on – just walk into the camp and say 'hello' – but something held her back. The redhead had some inner sense that things might not be what they seemed, though she had no idea why she might have thought that. In the end she decided that it must be due to the fact that it made no sense for Adam and Joe to camp out here on the ridge when those who loved and were worried about them were only an hour or two away. Of course, one of them could be injured and that would explain it.

Still, she thought it best she approach the place where the smoke was rising clandestinely.

Leaving the shelter of the trees, Fiona began to move forward. She had little training in the wilderness, but she had had plenty of practice in moving with stealth. Their house in Philadelphia had been built before the Revolution and the floorboards practically talked to you when you passed over them. She had learned to do so without noise, so no one in the house would be alerted to her nocturnal wanderings. She'd loved to be out at night – and loved spooning with a boy under the face of the moon even more. No one had ever caught her, so she certainly should be able to navigate her way through a forested area without stepping on any clarion sticks or making any other sound that would give her presence away.

As the fire before her grew closer, its smoke rose high into the sky marking the site of the camp. Fiona held her breath and chewed her lip as she came to the last of the tree line. Beyond it was a flat space. She could see the fire and the two bundled-up men sitting by it. With her hand on one of the tree trunks she leaned forward to take a better look. As she did a strong wind struck her, blowing back her spiraling curls and snapping the ends of her tattered dress even as an unexpected darkness descended. It was as if something had blotted out the waning sun and the waxing moon at one and the same time. Fiona looked up just in time to see a large winged shape diving down.

It was headed toward the men and the fire.

Dashing out of the trees, Fiona cried out, "Adam! Little Joe! Look out!"

It took a second but the two men by the fire stood up. One of them reacted more quickly than the other. He drew his pistol as he rose and fired up into the blackness. She saw the flash of the powder as the gun went off and heard a shriek, as if something living had been hit. Then, within the blackness two bright lights appeared. There was another cry.

And it was gone.

Fiona stood where she was, trembling. Tears formed in her eyes and, much as she tried to keep it from happening, flowed freely down her cheeks. She hated to admit it, but she was terrified. As she stood there, trying to process what had happened, one of the men came up to her. It was almost dark and his hat was pulled low over his eyes, so she couldn't tell if it was Joe or Adam. From the man's size, she thought it must be the oldest Cartwright son.

"Oh, Adam!" she sighed. "I am so glad..."

Fiona's voice trailed off. The man had shoved his hat back and was grinning.

She didn't know him.

NINE

Ben Cartwright was a worried man.

He and Gil had started out to join his boys and Gil's girls for their picnic, but on the way had been intercepted by his foreman on the timber line. The man informed him that a dispute had broken out in the camp and he was needed. It took until sundown to track down all of the involved parties and to broker a peace. In the end he'd asked Gil if he wanted to head back to the Ponderosa instead of going on to the lake. Gil had insisted they continue on, saying his girls had expressed a wish to watch the sunset. It was a good thing he did.

They had just found the abandoned wagon at the side of the road.

Gil rose and looked at him. He kicked the wooden wheel he had been crouched beside. "Looks like it got stuck in a rut, Ben."

The silver-haired man nodded. Normally Hoss would have had no trouble lifting the wagon out and, together, he and Hop Sing could have fixed the wheel. With his leg injured, his middle son would have been unable to bear the weight. So, apparently, the entire party had headed out on foot to meet up with Joe and Adam.

Ben glanced up. It was nearly dark. Then he looked at his friend. "It seems so. The tracks here indicate they took off on foot." He ran a hand over his chin. "They've probably made camp for the night. Though," he drew in a breath, seeking to muffle the sense of unease that continued to plague him, "why Adam and Joe didn't fix the wagon, I have no idea."

"You know young people. My girls probably charmed your boys into a night in the great outdoors spent under a canopy of stars. Fiona, for one, would consider that quite romantic." Gil paused and then added with an affectionate grin. "That youngest boy of yours better watch himself. Once that girl sets her cap..."

"Oh, Joe can take care of himself." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ben realized his hubris as visions of gunshot wounds, battered brows, and bloodied noses rose before his eyes. "With women," he added softly.

"You're worried about them, aren't you? _All_ of them?"

He hesitated and then replied. "Gil, there's a flow to things out here. A man gets used to it. Some things are certain as the sun rising and setting. If Hoss and the others met up with Joe and Adam, this wagon would have been fixed." Ben pursed his lips and shook his head. "Something's wrong."

"Can we follow their tracks?" his old friend asked.

"For a half hour maybe. Then it will be too dark. The land out here is unpredictable as a woman's fancy and it would simply be too dangerous."

Gil shifted uneasily on his feet. "So what do we do?"

Ben shrugged. "Track them for as long as we can and then make camp. Begin again in the morning. We – "

A shrill, high-pitched scream cut off what he had been about to say. He glanced at his friend. Gil had gone white as a sheet. Crossing to him, he anchored his old friend with a hand on his arm.

"Get hold of yourself, Gil. A panicked man is little help."

The Scotsman turned a stricken face toward him. "That _had_ to be one of the girls."

"My boys are with them. They'll protect them if...if it _means_ their lives. Gil, you have my word!"

Gil shook himself. "I'm sorry, Ben. I never should have brought them out here. If anything happens to one of my girls _or_ your boys because of my selfish need to escape, I will... Well, I will _never_ forgive myself!"

Whenever this current crisis ended, he and Gil were going to have to have a _long_ heart to heart.

"There's no time for self-recrimination now, Gil. That sound came from south of here, in the way the children went. Come on!"

Gil seemed to draw himself up. He palmed his pistol and nodded.

And they were gone.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright rose from his position near Joe and looked to the north. The sound he'd heard lingered on the air. It had been unnerving – frightening even. Some of the calls of the big cats mimicked a woman's scream and he hoped that was all that it was. Their plan had been for Hoss and the Jenkins' girls to ride out that morning to join them for a picnic. _They'd_ never showed, of course. He knew his middle brother was smart enough not to remain. The wilderness was no place for a trio of city girls. Hoss would have turned around and delivered them back to the ranch. There was absolutely no logical reason to suspect Ainslee, Deirdre, or Fiona would be anywhere nearby.

But then, since when did logic have anything to do with women?

A sound drew his attention back to his brother. Joe had fought him all day, insisting on walking under his own power, even taking the lead at times as they worked their way over the constantly rising and falling ground. The going had been tough as they had been forced to take the untrod paths in order to avoid detection. More than once they had heard voices behind them. Once time the two of them had had to squeeze into the depression in a hill under the hulk of a fallen tree trunk. He'd held onto Joe while two pair of boots passed by.

Joe's skin had been on fire. It was then he knew infection had set in.

Dogged, determined, and half-delirious his youngest sibling had continued under his own power for close to an hour after that. Then he had fallen.

So far, he hadn't gotten back up.

Returning to Joe's side, Adam knelt again and placed a hand on his brother's forehead. 'The fiery one', Many Marks had dubbed him. Well, he was fiery now. Joe was _on_ fire. And if he didn't extinguish it soon – or get him to someone who could – he might just burn up.

"Joe," he called softly. "Joe, are you awake?"

His brother pitched and moaned. Joe blinked and his eyes opened, but he didn't see him. "Adam? Adam, get it off of me!" he shouted. "Adam!"

"Joe, shh!" He glanced around and then back. "Joe, you have to be quiet. Those outlaws are close."

His brother's hands shot into the air. "Adam! I can't see the moon! Adam, it's gonna get me! Adam, I – "

Desperate, the man in black clamped his hand over his brother's mouth to silence him and then pulled him close. "Joe," he said, his whisper fierce, "listen to me. You _have_ to be quiet. You're having a hallucination. There's nothing after you. Joe – "

A sound caught his attention and cut his words off. He held Joe even tighter, feeling his brother tremble with the nightmare even as his tears wet his hand. ' _Dear God,_ ' he thought as he shrunk back into the shadows, ' _God keep Joe quiet._ ' If those men found them, with Joe in the condition he was in, there would be no hope of getting his brother home alive. Like he had when Joe had been a little boy and awoken with a night terror, Adam gathered him into his arms and pressed his curly head against his chest and spoke softly, soothingly, "Joe, it's just a nightmare. You're safe. You're with me. Joe..."

Adam's head came up. The sound had been repeated. Closer this time.

Someone _was_ coming.

"Nenimkee calls him," an aged voice said three seconds later, startling him.

Adam looked up. Then he sighed. It was Many Marks. "Good God, man! You could have called out," he spat.

The native knelt at his side. He pitched his voice low. "Bad men are close. They search for you and your brother."

Adam was instantly alert. "You've seen them?"

The shaman nodded. "They search on the other side of the hill. They will come here soon. You must go."

As if in answer to prayer, Joe had quieted. Though that frightened him too. "I can't. Joe's too sick."

Many Marks reached out. "He is not sick. His soul treads Nenimkee's world. If you do not want him to stay, _you_ must go."

Adam had had just about as much of this Thunderbird nonsense as he could take. "Look, I know you believe in your Thunderbirds and I have no problem with that. But my brother is not walking in some other world, he's sick and he's delirious and he's' going to _die_ if I don't find a way to help him."

The old man reached out and tenderly touched Joe's hair. "I will keep watch while you seek Nenimkee."

Adam scowled. If he could trust the old man to keep watch over Joe – and take care of him – it would present a solution to the problem. He could hike back and maybe find one of the horses and go for help. "Can I trust you to remain with him while I do? You left us before."

"I left to be with Nenimkee. He told me I am an old man and must go. Y _ou_ must go to him now." Many Marks pinned him with his dark eyes. "I am no longer strong. The Thunderbird is in need and he calls another to walk with him. If you want your brother to live, you must go to Nenimkee and make a bargain."

"A bargain?"

"Nenimkee needs care. I have done this for many years." The old man made a fist. "The Thunderbirds are strong. They battle the Horned One and bring justice. A man is needed to aid them."

He frowned. "And you think they want my brother?"

Many Marks nodded.

Adam pursed his lips and considered his options. Which was worse – dragging Joe, sick as he was, over the rough terrain and chancing further injury, or leaving him in the hands of a madman?

The man in black thought a moment longer, then he said, "If I leave Joe with you – _if_ – where will you take him?"

"Nenimkee has many caves to dwell in."

So, the cave they were in _was_ one of the network they had explored as kids. "And what is it you want _me_ to do?" Obviously the Indian had something in mind and it was not him hightailing it back to the Ponderosa for help.

The shaman's expression grew hard. "Bring justice."

"To...?"

"To those the Thunderbird wishes," the native said, "Much evil have they done. They walk with the Horned One."

"So you want me to _kill_ someone?" he asked, dubious.

"You must go to Nenimkee. He will tell you what you are to do."

One black eyebrow reached for his hairline. "And just _how_ do I do that?"

The shaman shifted. He reached into the pouch he wore at his waist and produced a small earthen vial with a stopper. "Go to the Thunderbird's cave. Drink this."

Adam took the container, removed the stopper, and sniffed the liquid within. The scent of it was pungent – almost sickly sweet. "What is it?" he asked, his tone slightly skeptical.

The old man's lips curled upward in a dangerous smile. " _Strong_ medicine, white man."

As he hesitated, considering how mad he was to even _think_ of doing what the Indian asked, Joe stirred in his arms. His brother's movements were feeble. There was no way Joe was going to rise again under his own power and he simply couldn't carry him as far as they needed to go.

Adam looked at the vial again.

It seemed Many Marks outrageous demand might be the _only_ game in town.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

With each minute that passed – and them finding nothing – Gilchrist Jenkins grew increasingly anxious that something had happened to one of his daughters. Though he had no reason to suspect that the day's happenings could in any way be related to the choice he had made in the past, somehow he _knew_ that they were. He had spent more than two decades running away from the consequences of that choice – first from California and then from Edinburgh, and even more recently from Philadelphia. He had always managed to stay one step ahead of the man who pursued him, but lately, he had grown tired and begun to make mistakes. He wanted nothing more than to stop. If it hadn't been for the girls he would have simply surrendered, but he had to think of them – of what his death and the revelation of its cause would _do_ to them. Though he believed that what he had done was right, there were those who would not understand. He could bear the disgrace, but for his children...

It had all been so long ago. At the time he had been a young man – younger than Ainslee – and the choice had seemed so clear. After all, he had taken an oath as a physician – an oath that superseded all other oaths including the one he made to his country. He still believed that the choice he made was right.

Unfortunately, there were others who did not.

The Scotsman glanced at the strong determined man at his side. Ben Cartwright was the model of what he would have liked to have been – a man who was driven to succeed. Ben had set a goal for himself and accomplished it, building a massive empire while retaining a sterling reputation. That was something few men did and this was the legacy he would leave his sons.

Gil closed his eyes and shook his head. If anything should happen to one of those boys because of his cowardice, he would never forgive himself.

"I should never have come," he breathed, unaware that he did so aloud.

"What was that, Gil?" his old friend asked.

Gil started guiltily. He altered it. "We've lost the sun."

Ben looked up. "Yes. But the moon will be up soon. We can travel by it, even if we can't see tracks. The children have been heading due south for some time. I think it is safe to assume that – " The silver-haired man fell silent. He pressed a finger to his lips and then signaled that they should move forward.

The Scotsman followed. As he did, he heard what the other man had – voices, pitched low, carrying on careful conversations.

At least one of the voices was feminine.

As Gil pressed past his friend, Ben caught his arm with his hand. He shook his head and then drew his gun. With a look, the silver-haired man indicated he should drop to the ground and wait. Feeling useless, Gil did as he was told. Ben nodded his thanks and then shifted into the trees. A minute later he returned.

"It's all right, Gil. It's them," he said before turning and calling out, "Hoss, it's your Pa. I have Gil with me. We're coming in." When he failed to move, his old friend frowned. "Gil? Is something wrong?"

Wrong? Yes, something was wrong. And it was about time he set it right.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Cradling the back of Joe's head in his hand, Adam lowered his brother onto the soft pallet of furs Many Marks had created and then covered him with the woolen blanket the native had provided. They were in yet another cave. It was stocked in much the same way as the first, so obviously the shaman used it as well on a regular basis. There was an odd smell – something that made him think there might be a sulfur springs nearby. It wasn't really unpleasant, but the scent stuck in his craw and made him cough. As he did, Joe stirred. His brother's green eyes opened with some clarity. Joe was sick, but, for the moment it seemed, not out of his head.

"Adam...where are we?"

"Safe."

Joe's fevered gaze roamed over the cave's interior. "That old shaman?"

"He's here."

His brother smiled, a weak but sweet smile. "Sorry about...before. I was pretty out of my head...wasn't I? I thought that old Thunderbird was gonna take me away."

" _No one's_ going to take you away, Joe," he said, a little too fiercely. " _No_ one."

Joe's fingers wrapped around his wrist, their fevered flesh burning into his. "Am I...gonna...die, Adam?"

The man in black snorted. "Not if I can help it. Who'll do your chores?"

Joe's eyes closed and he seemed to draw away. Feeling like a louse, Adam shook him. "Joe? Joe, stay with me. I need to talk to you. We've got a choice to make. Joe?"

"There is no choice," the shaman said as he came to their side. " _You_ must go to Nenimkee."

Adam's jaw tightened. He rose to his feet and turned on the old man. "Look, I know you mean well, but unless this _Nenimkee_ can bear my brother on his back and fly him home, your Thunderbird is _useless_ to me!"

"Your brother looked into Nenimkee's eyes. Their fire is in him," Many Marks insisted. "If you want to save him, you must go to the Thunderbird. Then you must do as he says."

"Good God, man! My brother has an infection caused by a bullet entering his shoulder and driving other matter in with it. Joe needs a doctor and medicine, not some ridiculous mumbo jumbo about a mythic black bird!"

' _That's it,_ _Adam'_ , he thought to himself. ' _Alienate the only person you have who is willing to help you.'_

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "That was uncalled for. I appreciate all the help you have given us. I'll try... I'll try to understand."

Many Marks was silent for the moment. "Long years ago, I knew one such as you," he said at last, "a man who cared more for others than for himself. A man who became no man to save the one who walked with the Thunderbirds." The Indian paused. "I could not help him, but I would help you and your brother."

Adam pursed his lips. "Why?"

"Because, as the man said, it is right."

Adam looked down at his brother. Joe's breathing was rapid and shallow; his skin pallid and covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He had to face the truth. It was doubtful that – even if he could find his way back to the camp and _if_ he could find one of their horses – he could make it to the Ponderosa and bring a doctor back in time to save Joe's life. Many Marks was their only hope and Many Marks had something he wanted him to do.

Adam slowly drew the earthen flask out of his pocket. He looked at the shaman and asked. "What is it I need to do?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Pa! If you ain't prettier than a socks on a rooster!" Hoss exclaimed as he and Gil stepped into view. His middle son was standing beside Hop Sing. The Chinese man looked tired. Hoss looked tired too.

Joe and Adam were nowhere in sight.

Before he could draw a breath to ask about his other sons, Gil's girls appeared out of the shadows and descended on their father. Both began to talk at once.

Both. Not all three.

The silver-haired man looked over their heads at his son. Hoss winced and then limped over to his side.

"Adam and Joe?" he asked as the big man arrived. He had to know.

"Ain't seen hide nor hair, Pa. I was fixin' to send the girls back with Hop Sing and go huntin' for them, when Miss Fiona up and decided we was takin' too much time going after Joe."

Ben drew a breath and let it out in a sigh. "She didn't..."

"Oh, yes, she _did_. That ornery little gal struck off on her own in search of little brother. Pa..." he hesitated.

"We heard it," Ben assured him. "What do you think happened?"

"Well, Pa, I don't rightly know. We ain't seen nobody, but with Adam and Joe missin', I figure there's got to be someone out here that's keepin' them from comin'. Maybe, whoever it is, they got Miss Fiona too."

"Or one of them could be hurt and they've holed up somewhere." The silver-haired man thought a moment. "Either way, we have to find the three of them, and find them now."

"Ain't much chance of that, Pa. Not 'til mornin'. It's black as pitch out here and unless you want to take a fall like I did, there ain't no goin' forward 'til light."

The silver-haired man looked up to see his old friend approaching. Each of his two remaining girls hung off of one of his arms.

"Ben, we have to go after Fiona."

He shook his head. "Look, Gil, I am as worried about Fiona as you are – and my sons – but we can't. There's no way we can navigate this land until first light."

He expected his friend to protest. Instead Gil hung his head and said, "It's all my fault, Ben. If anything happens to any of them, it's _my_ fault!"

Puzzled, Ben exchanged a look with his middle son before asking, " _How_ is it your fault, Gil?"

The Scotsman looked at him, his visage stricken, but it was Ainslee who answered.

"It's not my father's fault, Mister Cartwright. I wasn't honest with him, and I haven't been honest with you." She stared her father down as he began to protest. "No, Da, don't say anything." Ainslee released her father's arm and came to stand before him. "I know who has your sons, and most likely my sister, and Mister Cartwright, I know how dangerous he is."

"Who? Who are you talking about?"

The beautiful blonde shook her head and said with a sigh, "Prescott Catterson."

"Catterson? Who is that?"

This time it was Gil who answered.

"The army captain, Ben, who blames me for his ruin, and the death of his men."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam followed Many Marks' instructions, moving into a passage at the back of the cave and descending like Orpheus into a kind of Hell replete with swirling mist and sulfurous fumes. He stood now, looking into a chamber that had three exits – one ahead of him, and one to each side. His assumption was that one of them led back to the first cave Many Marks had sheltered them in. It seemed the old man lived down here along with his 'Thunderbird'. The shaman had explained that long ago, during the Mexican War when he had been a scout for the US army, he had been betrayed by a white man and almost died. Another white man had saved him, freeing him from the army prison and letting him run, but in the end his choice to live had led to his village being burnt to the ground and his family killed when the men who pursued him did not find him there. Somewhere in the midst of all of this Nenimkee had found him and called him to be not only his keeper, but his eyes and ears on the human world.

The Thunderbird's reason for existence, the old Indian explained, was to bring justice. The fact that Nenimkee had revealed himself to Joe was significant in Many Marks' eyes. He was old and felt he was soon to die and believed Joe had been chosen by the Thunderbird to take his place. If he did not want this, but wanted his brother to live to return to their home, then he must journey to Nenimkee's home and speak with him. He had to convince the bird to let Joe go.

Adam sighed. All of it was nonsense, of course. It _had_ to be nonsense.

But what if it wasn't?

So, that was why he was here in the bowels of the earth, staring at the small slender vial in his hand and considering drinking whatever it was that filled it. Well, actually, that wasn't the _only_ reason.

It was the price Many Marks' demanded to save Joe's life.

Adam closed his eyes. "God," he said, "no matter what happens to me, take care of my brother. Get him home."

Then, with eyes wide open, Adam tipped the clay vial upward and swallowed its contents whole.


	4. Part Four

TEN

Things were not going the way he had expected.

Prescott Catterson eyed the terrified young woman huddled near the fire and then left the camp in search of Lane and his brutish brother, Burley Culpepper. The pair had brought the girl in some time before. Their task had been to find one or both of the Cartwright brothers and instead they had returned with one of Gil Jenkins' daughters.

 _Exactly_ what he had tried to avoid happening.

He knew the easiest way to make Gilchrist Jenkins surrender would be to threaten one of his girls. He'd lied when he told his men otherwise, though it was true there would be more hell to pay for taking a woman hostage than an able, capable man. The truth was he simply could _not_ do that to Ainslee. Though the loss of her father would be hard, he was an older man with many sins on his head. All three girls were innocents.

Fiona had been little more than a child the last time he had seen her. Still, the likeness to Ainslee was unmistakable. He'd confirmed his suspicions when he interviewed her. Between sobs the girl had told him practically her entire life story. She was here with her father, Gilchrist Jenkins, and her two sisters. They were staying with the Cartwrights. They had come out to have a picnic, but their wagon had broken down and they had been stranded. Joe and Adam had gone missing. Hoss was injured and couldn't lift the wagon to fix it, and on and on and on. He'd finally had to quiet her with a shouted command. While he found her youth and innocence mildly amusing, his men did not.

And Burley Culpepper had a hungry look in his eye.

Before he left the camp he had placed Fiona in the care of the only man he had with him whom he trusted completely – Garland Frank, who had been a corporal in his command – and given Frank instructions that as soon as it was feasible he was to see the girl back to the Ponderosa. He wanted her out of the way before whatever was going to happen went down. Prescott ran a hand across his stubbled cheek. First, there was Jenkins to deal with and then, the Cartwrights.

Mace was dead. That was something else Ainslee's sister had let slip. She hadn't said it, but it was obvious one of the Cartwrights had killed him.

Prescott's jaw grew tight and his teeth gritted one upon the other. Mace had been an impulsive, quick to anger and quicker to make a mistake type. He'd hauled his little brother's ass out of more trouble in thirty-five years than any man should have been able to get into. He'd fought him at a fever pitch both verbally and physically, trying his best to make Mace think – to make him look before he leapt.

Well, he'd failed again – and for the last time.

Prescott removed his hat and ran a hand through his auburn hair. He sighed deeply, replaced it, and then went to look out over the land to where the sun was cresting behind a high mountain range. The sky in California had looked the same that day – red as hellfire and laced with dark clouds, heralding an impending storm. He wondered sometimes if it was worth it, this vendetta he'd carried for more than a quarter of a century now, and his single-minded pursuit of the two men he held responsible for his dismissal from the army and the death of his men. More than once he'd questioned himself. More than _once_ he'd told himself to let it go. But then the sights and sounds – the bodies falling, the cries of his men as they were cut down – rose again before his eyes and he knew that was something he could not do. No matter how much time had passed and no matter how far away they were from that night in California, both Many Marks and Gilchrist Jenkins had to die.

He would never know peace otherwise.

The redheaded man dropped into a seated position on a flat boulder and closed his eyes. It was there, as present as yesterday, that scene that had unfolded over twenty years before.

As Captain Prescott Catterson he had been the officer in charge of an advance party with a dozen men under his command. The war with Mexico was undeclared, but everyone knew it was coming – and any day. He'd been part of a discussion with his superiors and had balked at the delays, believing that any extra time would only favor their enemy. In the end his regiment had been sent out to spy on one of the haciendas where known sympathizers to the Mexican cause were alleged to be housed, to determined whether or not they were friendly to the Mexicans. Don Alejandro, the owner of the ranch, was suspected of supplying not only food but arms to the enemy. Traveling along with his regiment was an Indian Scout and interpreter called Many Marks. The Indian's adult name had come not from any marks of honor or from killing, but from his writing skills. His people had been amazed how quickly he had taken up the white man's books and tongue. On his orders the Shawnee, along with one of his men – Lieutenant Forest Walton, a fellow Philadelphian who was as close to him as he had been to Mace – were sent to scout out the hacienda and see if it was feasible to take those within by surprise. Many Marks didn't know, but he already suspected him of duplicity with the enemy.

There was nothing he could do without orders to silence him, so he told Walton to take him out.

Prescott sighed. His struck away the beginning of tears and forced himself walk through it again. Walton was supposed to return if there was trouble. If not, after one hour, the regiment would follow. It was a long hour and about ten minutes before it was over their camp was attacked. His men were busy, preparing their packs, readying to ride, and had no chance to take up their weapons and defend themselves. As they scattered there were shots. Mexican lances pierced the air and flesh. The redhead ran a hand along his chin. Out of fourteen men in the camp, five survived.

His friend was not among them.

There was no time to lick their wounds. He ordered the men to mount and they rained down on the hacienda in a storm of righteousness and retribution. The men inside were celebrating their victory over the _Americanos_ with tequila and had no idea what hit them. His small party killed all but one, including Don Alejandro. During the interrogation that followed, the man they had taken admitted that the owner of the hacienda _had_ been in league with Santa Ana, and that there was a double agent planted in their regiment. Unfortunately, before he could tell them who, one of his own men, in a fit of overzealous rage, silenced him. Still _he_ knew who it was. Who it _had_ to be...

Many Marks.

Leaving his regimental surgeon behind at the hacienda to tend to their wounded and deal with the dead, Prescott set out with his remaining men to find the Shawnee traitor. He sent some of them to the man's village with instructions to burn it to the ground if the natives would not tell them where Many Marks was. Then he took others and rode out into the desert himself. It didn't take long to catch up to the Indian. He'd been wounded and was moving slow. They took him and bound him and threw him into a makeshift jail. Due to military custom and the Indian's position as scout, the army dictated there had to be a trial.

It would be a quick one.

Prescott rose to his feet and began to pace, seeking to escape the remembrance of things past he could not undo. He'd placed Many Marks in one of the outbuildings, posted a guard, and then sent for the company's surgeon to tend to his leg wound. It was a bad one. The ball had entered high in the inner thigh. The redhead's upper lip curled in a sneer. After all, he didn't want the turncoat to die before they could hang him. After that he returned to his bunk and dropped into bed and fell into a heavy sleep fraught with nightmares where the men he had lost accused him of cowardice and complicity. Sometime later, he was awakened by shouts. As he stumbled out of the structure one of his men informed him that Many Marks had escaped. The guard had been found unconscious and the surgeon locked in the outbuilding in the scout's place.

At first, it had seemed plausible that Many Marks had overcome the man he had posted and then overtaken the surgeon. After all, he was a native and in his middle years and the outbuilding was not a jail. Then, one of his men came forward to report his suspicions. He had assisted the doctor with the surgery and the Doc told him that the Indian had lost a great deal of blood and was so weak he could barely stand on his own. The soldier also reported that another of the men had seen someone leaving and reentering the camp about the time Many Marks disappeared. There were other things as well – overheard words, whispers of collaboration and expressed sympathy for the enemy. They all pointed to one man.

The regiment's surgeon.

The man was taken and interrogated and in the end confessed that he believed the Indian innocent and had feared he would hang him without a real trial. He said, it was the only thing in good conscience he could do. Nothing _they_ could do, say, or threaten would make him say anything further. Not even when Prescott Catterson threatened to hang him. His corporal, a man named Franks, told him he couldn't do that – that the surgeon was a high ranking officer in his own right and they dare not mete out justice on their own. Finally Catterson agreed to take him to the nearest fort where a Court's Martial was convened.

Astonishingly, the surgeon was acquitted.

There was no war yet, the authorities said. Therefore there was no enemy to collaborate with. In fact, _he_ was censured for having sent his men in the raid against the hacienda. _He_ was drummed out of the service and lost everything.

While Gilchrist Jenkins walked away a free man.

Prescott Catterson's fingers clenched into fists. Before _God_ , he _would_ not let that stand!

"Pres?" a rough gravelly voice called, intruding on the memory that had driven him to do whatever he _had_ to do to make it right for more than two decades.

The auburn-haired man stirred and shook himself. Turning toward Garland he asked, "What are you doing here? I left you to guard the girl."

"I brought her with me. She's close." The former corporal nodded toward a thicket of trees. "I thought this was important."

He scowled. "Go on."

Garland was a handsome man by women's standards – lean, with a taut muscular build, a head of large graying blond curls and a winning smile. He'd apparently used all of that to gain the girl's trust. "After you left I got her to talking in more detail. She told me Adam and Joe Cartwright returned here yesterday morning to hunt down steers, or at least that's what they told their father. She said they were really looking for some huge bird that the younger one had seen. She called it a Thunderbird."

Prescott shrugged. "So the youngest Cartwright is a dreamer, what's that to me?"

"Listen, Pres, give me a chance. Fiona said the giant bird lived with an old Indian who took care of him. The Indian rescued the Cartwright boys."

"So?" he asked, growing impatient.

"She said he was Shawnee. _And_ he limped."

Reality rolled over and nearly left him dead. "Shawnee?"

"Yeah, how many of _them_ are out here?"

Garland had been in his company that night, when the Indian had run.

"Was it from a leg wound?"

The other man nodded. "Joe Cartwright said it was badly healed and left the old man bent over. Like no one had time to tend it and it healed wrong."

Had Providence smiled on him at last? Was it possible they'd take not only Gilchrist Jenkins but Many Marks as well?

"Did Fiona say where this Indian was?"

"She didn't know. But me and the boys were thinking. The caves around here are all interconnected. If we go back to the one we saw the Cartwrights disappear into and then backtrack through the various passages, we should be able to find them. That is, if they're still with the old Indian."

They'd wounded the young one. The odds were he was hurting, maybe even dying from infection right now. "Oh, I think they'll still be with him. The Shawnee's not going to lose such an opportunity. If it _is_ Many Marks, he knows I'm still after him. The Cartwrights would make a good shield. He'll keep them there somehow – and use them in the end."

"So what do we do?"

He considered it. There were only four of them, but just over the rise another four were waiting – men who had lost fathers and brothers to Jenkins and Many Marks' treachery. He'd spent years gathering them together.

Years waiting for it to be _done._

"Send Burley to get the other men, and then him and Lane and a few of the others into the tunnels. They can flush the Indian and the Cartwrights out. Make sure they know we want all of them alive," he insisted.

"What do you want me to do?"

Prescott's gaze went to the north where the Ponderosa lay. He thought a moment. "I changed my mind. Take Fiona to Virginia City instead. Send a wire to Ben Cartwright that she's there and safe. Then come back here."

"What are _you_ going to do?"

He looked to the north. "I'm going to pay the owner of the Ponderosa a visit."

"What for? There's nothing to bargain with. We don't have his sons yet."

"We will and, besides, Ben Cartwright can't know for certain that we don't. You remember, Garland, how it was in the war? Fear goes a long way toward a man's cooperation. We have those items we picked up from the first camp Hoss and Joe Cartwright made, don't we?"

"Yeah. A wallet, and a few others things."

"It's enough. Get my horse ready and place them on it. They may be just the thing I need to tip the scales against Gilchrist Jenkins.

"Mister Cartwright will have to decide which is more important – his old friend's life or his sons'."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They had returned to the ranch house.

In the end Ben had been the one to make the call, and it had been one of the hardest calls he had ever made. There was no sign of a trail leading to Adam and Joe. His missing sons could have been anywhere in several dozen square miles. Hoss was injured and weakening. The remaining Jenkins' girls were hungry and exhausted and just plain terrified for their sister, while their father was useless. Guilt had driven Gil to a place where all he could do was pace and wring his hands. In fact, Hop Sing was the only one who was still optimistic and steady on his feet. So, he had made the decision to mend the wagon and use it to bring everyone back to the Ponderosa. After he had them all settled, he intended to go to town and have Roy raise a search party to look for Adam and Joe.

Ben completed his descent and paused at the bottom of the stairs. It was almost dark and none of the lamps had been lit yet in the Great Room. He'd just seen Hoss to his bed. His middle son had protested but had fallen asleep even before he could finish arguing with him about how he wasn't tired. As he'd walked down the hall, heading for the staircase, he'd heard Gil's two girls talking. Deirdre was nearly hysterical with worry. Ainslee's voice, on the other hand, had an odd sort of calmness to it – like someone facing the gallows and willing to go. He meant to talk to her when he had a chance, but now – now – he needed to talk to her father. After his eyes adjusted, the silver-haired man looked around the room.

Gil was nowhere to be seen.

Or so he thought. He found his old friend in the end, seated in the little anteroom that housed his desk.

Crossing over to him, Ben leaned his hands on the polished wooden surface and asked, "Gil, _what_ is this all about?"

For a moment the Scotsman said nothing. Then he answered his question with a question. "How much, would you say, Ben, a man's honor is worth? Imprisonment? His life?" He paused. "The lives of those he loves?"

Ben caught the chair that one of his boys usually occupied and moved it from its position on the wall to where he could sit directly opposite the other man. "Is this _your_ honor we're talking about, Gil? Or someone else's?"

"Oh, mine." His friend steepled his fingers and leaned them against his chin. "When I became a surgeon, I took a vow. 'I will use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, but never with a view to injury and wrong-doing.'" Gil paused. "Those were words I meant when I said them, Ben."

"I know you did, Gil." Ben waited, allowing his friend time to move at his own pace.

"After you left the service, and after I married Lydia, I continued on with the army for a few years. It was an income and we needed it. Ainslee came along and then, to my everlasting regret, I was called to the field in forty-five and sent to California."

"To aid in the taking of it?"

He nodded. "I was attached as first surgeon to a regiment captained by a man named Prescott Catterson. Like most military man he was itching for a fight. When he didn't find one, he _made_ one. Using the excuse that someone had betrayed him and his men – someone allied with the owner of a hacienda he had pegged as being hostile – Catterson attacked and killed most of those within. We had a scout with us, an Indian man named Many Marks. Catterson laid the blame for the attack on his camp on Many Marks and ordered the Indian hung." Gil lowered his hands and straightened in the chair. The look in his eyes was a mix of pride, determination, fear, _and_ regret. "I helped him escape."

Catterson's name seemed vaguely familiar. Ben was thinking about where he might have heard it when Gil's last statement penetrated and drove the question right out of his head.

"You _what?"_

"Captain Catterson was going to hang him, Ben, right there on the spot. He had me treat the Indian." Gil blew out a disgusted breath. "He wanted him _saved_ so he could hang him! I knew Many Marks was innocent. I... I incapacitated the guard and helped him escape."

"Gil, that's treason!"

He shook his head. "It would have been, had we been at war. We weren't – not yet. I was accused of treason."

"What happened?"

"In the end I was exonerated and Captain Catterson was convicted for disobeying orders. A year later he was drummed out of the service in disgrace."

Ben leaned back in his chair. "Gil, why _did_ you come to the Ponderosa?"

"Don't you think I keep asking myself that?" His tone was sharp and filled with self-recrimination. "When your last letter came, it seemed to offer an opening, maybe even an answer to prayer." Gil leaned forward. His gaze went the stair. When he spoke, he lowered his voice. "Ben, Ainslee doesn't know that I know. Prescott Catterson was a lecturer at her college. He sought her out and tried to use her to get to me." He scowled. "She's never been the same. I thought if I brought her out here, away from it all... I thought, if I left the East, I'd leave Catterson and the past behind as well. But it seems, fate has not been so kind."

"You think this Catterson is here? And that he is the one who has the boys, and maybe Fiona?"

"I'm sure of it! Ben, what else could it be? Maybe he intercepted our letters. I don't know. Somehow he became aware of my arrival and has determined he will kill me – and he doesn't care who gets caught in-between!"

"Is that all?" Ben asked, sensing there was more.

Gil hung his head for a moment and then lifted it and met his eyes again. "No. When I said fate had not been kind, I meant that everything is coming together in such a way that it seems I will be made to pay for the choice of my youth."

"How is that?"

"The Indian I saved, Ben – Many Marks – I believe he's the same one who rescued Hoss and Joe that first night."

That seemed a leap. "Why?"

"Joe's description. The game leg. The fact that the man is an Eastern Indian. His age. It all fits." Gil drew a breath. "Ben, your sons are being held hostage against a choice I made twenty-odd years ago and it's going to cost them their lives." He looked at his hands. "And perhaps Fiona's too."

"Now, Gil, calm down. Fiona might simply be lost. There is no proof that she's being held by anyone. Joe and Adam could be holed up somewhere. Or, maybe, even now all three are on their way back to the Ponderosa. Even if this Indian _is_ the one you saved, and even if this Catterson _is_ here, there are literally hundreds of acres out here and the odds that they will all end up in one place are, well, to put it mildly, astronomical."

Gil snorted. "That all sounds well and good, old friend, and very sensible." He shook his head. "But I know different."

"Gil, I..." Ben broke off. "Did you hear that?"

His friend nodded. "Someone's coming."

He listened. It was a single horse. That suggested it was someone other than the boys and Fiona. "You better go upstairs, Gil. I'll go see who it is and what they want."

As the troubled man rose to his feet, Ben made his way to the door. He paused, and then opened it and stepped outside just as a single rider entered the yard. The man stopped about fifteen feet out and reined in his mount.

Stepping off the porch Ben approached him. "Welcome, stranger," he said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

The man, who was about fifty, with deep auburn hair graying at the temples and a pair of piercing dark eyes, inclined his head and acknowledged his greeting. He removed a saddlebag from the horse's back, took something from it, and then tossed the item to the ground.

"My calling card, Mister Cartwright."

Ben stared at the man, and then at the object. A moment later he knelt and picked up. The worn leather case bore the Ponderosa brand and, in a place only a member of the family would know to look, the initials JFC.

It was Joe's wallet.

The older man's fingers went white on the brown hide. "Where is my son?" he demanded.

"Safe. They're _both_ safe." The stranger leaned forward in the saddle. "For the moment."

The implication was that this man, whoever he was, had both Joe _and_ Adam. Ben's jaw tightened as he held out the leather wallet. "All this proves is that you have something belonging to Joe. You could have found it lying beside the road."

"Or I could have taken it off of the boy's dead body," the man said dryly. "Shall we speculate further, or do we get to the matter at hand?"

Still gripping the case, Ben nodded. The man acknowledged his gesture with a tip of his hat and then dismounted. After tying his horse off to the rail, he turned toward him and fell into what Ben recognized as a military stance known as 'at ease'.

"What is it you want?" Ben asked. "If it's money, there's little in the house right now. I would have to go to town – "

"Do I look like a common criminal, Mister Cartwright?"

"You claim to be holding my sons for ransom _and_ have threatened Joe's life – what _else_ would I think you look like?"

"A man with a mission," the stranger said, his intensity surprising.

" _What_ mission?"

"One of justice long deferred." The man's deep brown eyes pinned him. "What I offer you is an exchange, Mister Cartwright. The safe return of your sons for the _pleasure_ of the company of your current houseguest, Gilchrist Jenkins – and your silence."

Ben went rigid. Could this be the man his old friend was talking about? "What do you want with Gil?"

"To carry out the sentence that was pronounced long ago."

"Gil was acquitted of any wrong doing."

"Oh, I see he's been filling your ears with lies. Did Army Surgeon Gilchrest Jenkins tell you that I acted without orders? That the raid on Alejandro's hacienda was my own personal 'war'? That I was going to hang the Indian without a trial?" The auburn-haired man paused. "Desperate men can be very convincing, Mister Cartwright, though – from what I know of you – I expected more."

"What you _know_ of me?" Ben examined the man more closely. No, there was no recognition. "We've never met."

"We have not, sir, but we _have_ done business." The man shifted. He removed a glove and boldly held out his hand. "Prescott Catterson, junior partner of Wendeln and Holmes, suppliers of belts and pulleys and other items related to the timber trade. I came out west a few years ago in order to raise...funds to pursue my cause. Imagine my surprise when I found out – that after years of staying one step ahead of me – Gilchrist Jenkins was running into my arms."

He knew the name had been familiar when Gil mentioned it. He'd seen this man's signature on papers Adam brought to him to sign. So _that_ was how Catterson knew Gil had come to Virginia City. Adam must have mentioned it during an earlier transaction.

Ben refused the hand with a look. "Catterson is not a common name. I take it you _are_ the man who was in charge of Gil's regiment?"

"Yes, and the man you are harboring in your home is responsible for helping the man who betrayed my regiment to escape." As he spoke, Catterson grew more enraged. His jaw tightened and his near-black eyes narrowed. Into them came the light, almost of madness. "You will, sir, turn him over to me or suffer the consequences of aiding and abetting a traitor to these United States!"

Ben waited a moment. When he spoke, his words were quiet. "Those 'consequences' being the death of my sons? How does that make you any better than Jenkins?"

Thos near-black eyes did not waver. "I will give you until sunup tomorrow to surrender the prisoner," the auburn-haired man replied, completely ignoring his question. "You will bring him to the place where your sons were camped. If Jenkins does not arrive by noon tomorrow, one of your sons will die. And if you choose to be so foolish as to go to the law and wind of it comes to me, there will be _two_ coffins to fill." Catterson held his gaze. "Do not test me, Mister Cartwright. I have killed men before. I _will_ do as I say."

"What if I promise to take Gil to the closest fort and turn him over to the authorities there? You could bring your case – "

"I _already_ brought my case before the 'authorities', sir, and it was summarily dismissed! I will not take that chance again. No. You will hand Gilchrist Jenkins over to me tomorrow morning. It is _his_ life or your son's."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Catterson turned away before he could. The auburn-haired man mounted his horse, put spurs to horse flesh, and flew out of the yard without another word.

Ben stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of Joe's wallet in his hand and all of its implications. There was no way to know if the man was bluffing or telling the truth. Joe and Adam _were_ missing. The trouble was, the boys _could_ be Catterson's prisoners and he simply couldn't take the chance. Just like he couldn't take the chance to turn Gil over to a madman, no matter what the promised 'consequences'.

The silver-haired man closed his eyes as defeat washed over him. Then he looked up, seeking that help that always came, no matter how delayed or seemingly far away.

A second later Ben heard the door to the ranch house open. When he turned, he found Gil standing in the doorway, a stricken look on his face.

"Old friend," Gil said, staring after Catterson, "we need to talk."

ELEVEN

Joe Cartwright awoke abruptly, jolted out of deep sleep by an acute sense of danger. He had been dreaming and into that dream had crept a gut-wrenching fear for his brother, Adam. Though he couldn't see him well, he knew it was Adam by the way his older brother stood, with one hand on his gun and the other on his hip and one shoulder thrust out as if all of his concentration was aimed forward, toward whatever it was that threatened him. Joe couldn't see that either, but he could hear it and knew what he thought it was – a snake hissing and a horse snorting, the massive animal unnerved enough by the sudden sight of a reptile to strike out with hooves wielding pain and death. He could see the shadows of both man and beast cast on the cave walls, shifting, forming, reforming as if the fire that created them danced and flickered. Joe tried to rise to go to his brother but, to his dismay, found that he couldn't. Each second that passed as he lay there, watching, unable to go to Adam's aid was agony. He tried to shout a warning, but no sound issued from his throat. His brother stood there, unmoving, waiting for whatever was going to happen – for the hooves to strike him, for the snake to bite, for death to come and take him in hand. For –

"Adam!" Joe's eyes flew open. It took a moment, but he realized what he had just seen wasn't real. It had been a nightmare within a nightmare brought about by the dangerously high fever that raged within him. He shuddered with the memory of the fear he had felt and, truth be told, _still_ felt. He didn't know _how_ he knew, but his brother was in danger and fever or no fever, nothing was going to stop him from finding Adam and fighting for him. With a trembling hand Joe gripped the blanket that covered him and slowly pulled it aside. He shifted his body, prepared to rise, but had to stop when the motion caused pain to shoot through his upper body and he nearly passed out. Falling back Joe lay on the pallet of furs, panting hard, waiting for the stampede of his heartbeat to slow. Then, planting his teeth deliberately and determinedly in his lower lip, he tried again.

And failed _again._

Defeated, Joe fell back as tears flooded his eyes. They weren't for his own pain, but for his brother. Something was wrong. Adam was in danger. Adam was...

Where?

Unexpectedly, cool fingers brushed his forehead, pushing back the curly brown fringe that dominated it. A moment later an aged voice said, "The Thunderbird's fire burns deep within you."

Joe blinked and turned his head slightly. It was the old Indian. What was his name? "Many Marks?" he asked weakly.

"He calls you," the old man said as he lifted his hand.

The brown-haired man licked his lips and coughed. "He? He...who?"

The native pivoted and reached for something. When he turned back, he held a cup of water in his hand. Slipping an arm under him, Many Marks lifted him up and placed it against his lips.

"Drink," he said.

Joe didn't argue. While he was drinking, he realized the old man had changed clothes. He was bare-chested now, which revealed a number of tattoos written into his leathery skin. His face was painted like a warrior, as if he was prepared for battle, and a headband – decorated with long black feathers and shells – contained his long loose white hair. Joe glanced down as he took a final sip and saw that Many Marks was wearing a pair of cream colored buckskin leggings and no shoes. In a way he was stripped down like a man who had shed almost everything in order to survive a long walk in the desert.

As the Indian returned him to the pallet, Joe asked the question uppermost in his mind, "Where's Adam?"

The Indian had put the cup down and was reaching for a bowl. Many Marks glanced back as he answered. "He talks to Nenimkee."

Joe watched as the man dipped his fingers in the viscous stuff that filled it. "Who's Nenimkee?"

"He knows you. _You_ know him as well," the shaman said as he layered the viscous stuff onto a large leaf and placed it over his wound.

Joe sighed, and then fought to remain conscious as relief cool as a naked boy skinny-dipping on a blazing hot day, flooded through him. "I don't know anyone named Ne-nim-kee," he said even as he yawned. "Is he another Shawnee?"

In answer the native reached up and removed one of the black feathers from the back of his headband. Balancing it on his fingertips, he closed his eyes and spoke a few soft words, so low Joe couldn't hear them. There was a pause of a few seconds and then Many Marks placed the feather on top of the leaf that covered his wound.

"Nenimkee will protect you while I am gone," he said as he rose.

"Where are you going?"

"To pray," the old man said as he rose to his feet.

Joe's looked down at the single black feather laying on his chest. It was close to the length of his forearm. His brow furrowed and he frowned – and then instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea rolled over him and he almost went out. Was Many Marks claiming that Nenimkee was one of the Indian's legendary Thunderbirds?

And did the giant feather mean the Thunderbird _was_ real?

Joe waited until the nausea had passed and then asked, "Where is he – Nenimkee, I mean? Is he..." He paused, remembering the sound in his dream of the hiss and snort – the same sounds he had heard that first night when the black shape flew overhead. A pit opened in his stomach. "He's not with Adam, is he?"

The old man had thrown on a short cloak that was lined with dozens of black feathers. In his hand he held a fan made of more of the same. "Your brother has gone to plead with the Thunderbirds for your life," Many Marks said solemnly. "I go to ask them for his." When Joe started to rise, the native shook his head. "You must stay here."

"Like Hell, I will," he protested, rising up again. "If my brother is in danger – "

"It is you, fiery one, who will bring him danger. _You_ must remain still and grow strong. _I_ must pray and _he_ must win the heart of the Thunderbird."

Joe fell back to the pallet, half in pretense and half because he could barely hold himself up. It would do no good to argue with the old man. He was a mystic and believed the spirits controlled their destinies. He, on the other hand, believed there was only one spirit that could do that and He would give him the strength to find and aid his brother before it was too late.

Feigning a sudden weakness, Joe feebly waved the Indian on. "You go do what...you have to do," he said, deliberately slowing and slurring his words, "and I'll just...do what...I have...to..."

Silence descended on the cave. Joe concentrated on his breathing, evening it out so it appeared he had fallen asleep. Then he waited.

At first, there was nothing. Then, slowly – almost reluctantly – Many Marks left his side and walked toward the cavernous room's opening. Once there the shaman paused, and then his footsteps echoed down the passageway and faded to nothing.

Joe lay still, listening for some time, then he drew his cover off again and laid it to the side. He took a deep breath, held it, and willed his battered and feverish form to rise to a seated position. The effort cost him and he had to remain where he was for several minutes. Then, pushing past the limit again, he worked his way to his feet and stood there swaying. He told himself the pause was so he could think it through and determine the best course. The truth was he was so lightheaded he wasn't sure what would happen if he took a step. Closing his eyes, he listened to his body like his pa had taught him. ' _Joe'_ , Pa said, ' _God created man to survive. It's the strongest instinct he has. Your body knows what you need. Listen to it! It will tell you. It will save you!'_

His body was telling him it had been over fourteen hours since he had eaten and he needed food.

The brown-haired man glanced around. A small fire smoldered near the back of the cave. Joe staggered over to it. On a spit over the flames was the remnant of a roasted rabbit. Dropping to the floor beside it, he pulled the rangy meat off the bone and then forced it past his nose and took a bite. The taste of charred flesh sickened him but he pushed on in spite of it, pulling little bits of meat off with his teeth and chewing them until they were soft enough to swallow without liquid. The meat would give him strength. It had to.

Adam needed him.

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Adam sat on the floor of the cave Indian-fashion, his head down, his arms extended and his hands resting on his knees. After drinking whatever it was the old Indian had placed in the clay vial, he had grown dizzy and dropped where he stood. It had been a stupid thing to do, but – under the circumstances – he'd felt it was the only thing he _could_ do. On top of being the only 'doctor' capable of tending Joe, Many Marks held the answer to the mystery of what the great black shadow was that they had seen, of why it _and_ the men who had tried to kill them were here, and how all of these things were related. The old man was a shaman – a medicine or mystery man – and his ways were not the ways of the ordinary Indian. He walked in a land of shadows filled with visions and visitations. It seemed to Adam that, by giving him whatever was in the flask to drink, the native had invited him in – _accepted_ him in a way. He really had no idea what this had to do with Joe. He didn't believe for one minute that a mythical Thunderbird intended to steal his brother's soul. And yet, he had to acknowledge that there were things a man such as Many Mark's understood that someone like him – someone with a logical, rational mind – would _never_ understand. He remembered a lecture he had heard while at school in the East, presented by a student of Humphry Davy. _'Nothing is so dangerous to the progress of the human mind than to assume that our views of science are ultimate, that there are no mysteries in nature, that our triumphs are complete and that there are no new worlds to conquer.'_

Wise words from a wise man.

Adam stirred as the world about him began to melt, the cave walls running with shadows that traveled their length to pool on the floor. He drew a breath, wet his lips, and waited as they stirred as if troubled by a sudden wind. Seconds later a form rose from out of the blackness. It hesitated and then opened a mighty pair of wings, the tips of which reached from one side of the cave to the other. The potent stench of sulfur rolled over him and a hot wind burned his cheeks as it shifted and began to move toward him. The man in black did not flinch as it stopped before him. For a heartbeat neither of them moved.

Then, curious, Adam reached out.

The darkness that loomed above him broke like a bevy of black butterflies. A thousand, _thousand_ tiny wings touched his flesh and whispered across his cheeks, brushing his lips, gently, in a lover's kiss. His instinct was to strike them away, but he resisted and allowed them instead to circle about him. For a second, all went dark, and then the black whirlwind rose toward the ceiling of the cave...

...revealing two native men. The pair stood before him, arms crossed, their heads tilted slightly to the side as if considering him and the choice he had made to enter their world. Both were young and dressed in buckskins, their stoic faces painted like warriors, though neither appeared to be hostile. Each had a symbol tattooed on his cheek and wore a single feather tied on by a leather thong and dangling from the surface of his dark brown hair. The mark the first and taller of the two wore was that of a red leaf. The other had one in the shape of a yellow bear. Somehow, he knew they were brothers, just like he knew the symbols were their names. Red Leaf and Yellow Bear.

The dead sons of Many Marks.

The eldest beckoned him. _Come_ , he said, _let your journey begin_.

He hadn't forgotten what he had come here for. "I'm not going anywhere. I need to speak to Nenimkee."

Yellow Bear grinned – the kind of grin Joe had, cocky and too sure of himself and just plain appealing _. Nenimkee waits on the other side_ , he replied _,_ holding out a hand _. You must travel through to meet him._

Adam pursed his lips and sighed. "Well, if I must," he replied as he rose. Once on his feet he reached for Yellow Bear's hand.

As the youth clutched his fingers, his elder brother stepped forward and wrapped both his hands around their wrists.

Red Leaf's black eyes sought his. _See,_ he said.

And he did.

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Joe braced himself with a shaking hand against the cave wall. He glanced back the way he had come, fully expecting to find Many Marks or that big black bird he had imagined coming after him. When he heard and saw nothing, he wiped sweat from his brow with what was left of his sleeve and started out again, determined to find Adam. The old man had been vague about where exactly it was his brother had gone to meet with this Nenimkee, but it seemed it was deeper within the network of caves cut into the land that bordered Lake Tahoe. It had been hard to see by the light of small torch he'd kindled, but he _had_ managed to find a path with curious tracks leading to a fork, and then into the right hand branch of the passage that turned sharply down. The tracks looked like they'd been made by someone dragging a rake or pitchfork –

Or maybe by the talons of a giant bird.

Joe swallowed over a lump in his throat large as Nevada. If what he'd seen _was_ real, he really _didn't_ want to run into it unexpectedly in the middle of a dark narrow passageway cut into the heart of the world.

With one hand held out before him, the brown-haired man began to work his way forward again. Joe found he could travel about five minutes before the fever and fatigue drove him to rest. The meat he had eaten had given him a little strength and he no longer felt like he was going to pass out. Still, he was hampered by the fact that a high fever was licking at the edge of his senses and he wasn't sure that everything he saw or maybe even _thought_ was real. It was hard for a man to know if he was delirious because, if he was, all those crazy things seemed perfectly sane. At times it appeared that the shadows on the walls had a life of their own. They would move backwards from where he was and rise up, spreading out like a pair of great black wings, to loom over him. Then, from the heart of the blackness, twin beams of light would flash as if the night had opened its eyes to watch him. He told himself it was just the fever painting pictures. That nothing was there. That there _was_ no such thing as Nenimkee, the Thunderbird, and that Many Marks was just a crazy, lonely old man. That's what he told himself.

What he _believed_ was something Joe kept even from himself.

After pausing again to rest he continued on, moving ever downward, leaving the surface and any chance of escape even farther behind. Joe's footsteps echoed and at times he thought he heard voices. He couldn't tell if they were real, but it was something to aim for and so he moved forward, straining his ears, seeking the speakers – hoping against hope one of them was his brother, and that once they were reunited they could get the Hell out of wherever the Hell it was they were.

Joe blinked. Maybe he should try that again.

As he paused, the sound repeated. Definite this time. Men. Talking. He frowned and bent his head and listened, trying to discern their words. He just about had it when he realized whoever was speaking was coming closer. It might be Adam. But then again –

It might not.

Joe extinguished the torch, plunging himself and the passageway into total darkness.

"I thought I saw a light over here," a man said almost immediately. "Did you?"

"It might have been a trick. Happens sometimes in caves. Our light might have struck a vein of ore, or water that reflected it back. Or it might be that weird moss, you know that stuff that glows?"

They were almost on top of him now. Two men. Vaguely illuminated by torches. One was big and ugly. The other shorter, with blond hair.

"I guess you're right," the ugly man said. "This place gives me the woollies. You notice it's us down here and not Pres."

There was a pause. When the blond spoke, he was right in front of him. "Burley, tell me. Do you think Pres is...well...all right?"

"I ain't sure he was ever right." Burley spat. "I used to think he knew what he was doing and the money was good. But now...I think he's lost it. You know, Lane, clearing Catterson's conscience ain't important enough for me to die."

"I'm sure Mace thought the same thing," the other man agreed. "You know how he argued with the captain."

His companion snorted. "What do you think Pres will do when he catches the Cartwright kid that pushed his brother off of that rock?"

Joe stiffened. It was him. They were talking about _him!_

"We'll know once we catch him – _and_ his brother. They gotta be down here somewhere."

Lane shifted his torch to his other hand The light penetrated the edge of the crevice Joe had worked his slender form into. He tried to become even smaller.

"Come on," Burley ordered. "Let's keep hunting."

Joe whistled softly after the light had disappeared. So _that_ was what the men were doing down here. They were searching for him and Adam because they blamed them for that man's death.

After waiting another minute to make sure the pair didn't double back, Joe left the shadows and stood in the center of the passageway. He still had the torch and he had matches in his pocket, but now he was afraid to use them. Who knew if there were more men searching the tunnels between the caves? Without light he would have to move more slowly, but there was really little choice. Coming to a decision, he turned and began to walk and almost immediately stumbled. As he caught himself by taking hold of a rock protruding from the cave wall, he closed his eyes and listened to his body again. It was telling him to stop. It was telling him he was one _sick_ boy.

It was telling him that if he didn't listen soon he was bound to die.

"Sorry, Pa," Joe said softly as he pushed off the wall and headed deeper into the cave. "This time I'm going to have to hope that you're wrong."

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Adam halted to catch his breath. A low-slung building lit with torches on the outside and lamps within lay before him. The torches flickered in the strong wind that blew across the shallow basin that held the hacienda, stirring up sage and driving it tumbling across the hard baked surface of the earth. Shutters banged in the wind, as well as one loose side door. The door kept a steady rhythm as it banged against the wall of the stucco structure. Several figures moved within the building's confines. Adam couldn't make out who they were, but they seemed comfortable, as if this was their home or headquarters. A short square man, obviously Mexican, came to the front door and looked out as if expecting someone.

Adam glanced at Red Leaf and Yellow Bear where they flanked him on either side. He had asked them what this was all about. Neither had given him much of an answer. Red Leaf had only repeated.

 _See_.

Yellow Bear caught his shoulder and pointed. Adam looked in the direction the boy indicated. Two men were making their way across the desert, snaking low across the sands as if they did not want to be seen. Though _he_ couldn't see, and there was no way he could know, he _knew_ one of them was Many Marks. The pair crawled up along a low sand bank topped with gorse and stopped just in front of him. Sitting with his back against the sandy wall, the Indian's companion – who was a white man – spoke to the shaman.

"This is it. The place we're supposed to scout. Prescott needs to know how many men are inside and if it looks like we can take it with the few men we have."

The Indian rose up on his knees to look. Adam was surprised by what he saw – a strong, able man in his early fifties, much like his father, with the light of determination and conviction in his near-black eyes. "I will go, Lieutenant Walton," he said.

Walton shook his head. "We go together."

"I am quieter and the spirits are with me." Many Marks found and grasped the amulet he wore around his neck. "There is no need for you to take a risk."

"You know I don't believe in that nonsense," the lieutenant spat.

"You are an educated man from Philadelphia. You believe in what you read." The Indian released the amulet. "I believe in what I see."

Walton turned and rose up to look over the bank. "Well, what I _see_ appears to be a hacienda with little or no defense. And while it's not within my authority to give orders to a civilian, I still think..."

"Your order does not change anything. This is something I must do."

The soldier shrugged. "Very well." He palmed his rifle and prepared it to fire. "I'll watch your back."

Many Marks nodded. Then he slipped, sure as any creature born to the desert, over the top of the sandy rise and began the run toward the house.

When he was halfway there a shot rang out. Adam jumped as Many Marks fell.

It had come from Walton's gun.

The lieutenant waited several heartbeats and then rose up and walked to where the Indian lay on the desert floor. Blood poured from a wound high up on his leg. Walton snorted as he kicked him.

"You said it, savage, seeing _is_ believing."

Adam turned to Red Leaf. The native's look was grim. "What is this?" he asked. "What am I seeing?"

It was Yellow Bear who answered. _The truth._

A sound made Adam turn back. A man was crossing the desert, approaching Walton and Many Marks. It was the Mexican who had been in the hacienda.

"Is the Indian dead?" he asked.

Walton shook his head. "He's bleeding out. He will be shortly. It's better this way. It will look like it happened in the raid." The soldier indicated an area of land just beyond where they stood. "I'll take him over there and leave him. They'll find him when they find the others and think he crawled off. No one will be the wiser."

"Not even your captain?"

The soldier snorted. "He ordered me to kill the savage. I did. If the reason why is something else, well, Catterson doesn't need to know." The lieutenant paused. "Do you have the money?"

"For betraying your regiment. _Si, I have it_."

"Look who's passing judgment. Don Miguel told me Alejandro was your friend."

"Si," he said again, and then the Mexican grinned, "he _was_."

"So the other American will come, soon?"

Walton nodded. "Honor is for men with deep pockets. Not men like you and me."

"When will your captain come?"

"The plan was that the captain would come within the hour if he didn't hear from me." The soldier glanced at the sinking sun. "He's probably on his way right now."

"You have done your work well. The American soldiers who survive will be disgraced, and Don Alejandro will be dead. Don Miguel is pleased, Forest Walton. He told me to give you a bonus once we knew for certain that things would go according to plan."

Walton's face lit with avarice. "A bonus? What kind of bonus?"

The Mexican produced a small snub-nosed pistol from a sack at his waist and fired it. The bullet took Lieutenant Forest Walton in the stomach. As his eyes widened with understanding and Walton fell to the sand beside the still form of Many Marks, the man who had shot him smiled and said, "Don Miguel is sending you to the place where the streets are paved with gold, _Senior_ Walton. There you will be richer than any man alive."

As the Mexican spoke a pair of men came up behind him. He indicated they should remove both Walton and Many Marks and place them some distance away where the advancing troops would not be able to see them. As they moved away, the men began to fade, as if they walked into a thick mist.

Red Leaf touched his shoulder and indicated he should follow him.

Adam did as he was told.

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Joe sat on the floor of the passage with his head thrown back against the wall. Maybe this hadn't been the smartest thing to do. If he died down here, no one would ever find him and his Pa and brothers would have no way of knowing if he was alive or dead. He knew what kind of hole that would leave in _his_ heart if it had been his older brother or Hoss who'd disappeared. Still, that was why he was here – that was _why_ he was traveling down, down, _down_ into God's cellar.

He didn't want to spend the rest of his life wondering what had happened to Adam.

Sweat poured down Joe's neck and back, soaking and darkening the filthy fabric that still managed to cling to his lean frame. His shoulder was throbbing, beating in time with his heart , which raced like a stallion. His vision had become cloudy as well as clouded with all manner of horrors painted by an imagination fueled by fever fire. Out of the darkness he had seen John C. Reagan coming at him, all fists and fury. And Sam Wolf, dragging his little brother's rotting corpse behind him. He'd watched again as his brother Hoss was shot, only this time – screaming, cursing, _seething_ with rage – he'd pulled the trigger and killed Red Twilight.

And then there was Adam, shot by Cochise's men, dead in his arms.

Joe started and drew in a sharp breath. He had to get up. _Had_ to continue on. If he sat here, giving in to the delirium and feeding it with hunger and pain-driven fear, that last one would come true. Adam _was_ going to die.

And it would be _his_ fault.

The brown-haired man shifted. He pressed his back against the wall and began to work his way up. Joe moaned as he did and almost tumbled over, but at the last minute found his balance and kept his feet. He was just about to push off the wall when a sound stopped him. He cocked his head and listened. It wasn't men this time. There were no words – just a soft scraping sound like a rake being dragged over the hard-packed earth of a barn floor. Holding his breath he remained where he was; flattened against the cave wall, breathing hard. A second later he saw something move. Joe blinked, uncertain if the sight was real or if his fevered brain was making it up. After all, it might be nothing more than the wavering vision of one of the great jutting columns of stone that rose up from the cavern's floor. Still holding his breath held, he waited as whatever it was moved toward him, rolling with the gait of a seaman fresh off of a ship. When it came to rest, it was nearly as tall as he was and its bulk filled the corridor. The dismal light did little to reveal his strange visitor, but the brown-haired man knew what it was. Its body was black, it had feathers and a beak, and its keen eyes were open and fixed on him.

Joe let the breath out slowly. He blinked again and swallowed. Feeling like a fool, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to be Nenimkee, would you?"

The giant bird remained still. Only its head moved, tilting slightly to the right as if puzzled.

"Have we met before?" he asked, his voice squeaking.

The bird snorted, sounding for all the world like a mare blowing out a warning. Then it moved even closer.

He couldn't back up any farther so Joe stood there, brave as any man would be who had no other choice. He waited for the Thunderbird to attack him, to peck his eyes out, to kill him and tear the flesh from his bones...

Instead it spread its giant wings wide, encompassing his weary form, and then drew him forward and brushed his cheek with the tips of its feathers.

TWELVE

Ben Cartwright looked hard at his old friend. It seemed Gil had aged twenty years in the twenty minutes since Prescott Catterson had appeared and told them that he and his men were holding Adam and Joe, and that the price for their release was the Scotsman's life. Gil was willing to give it for his boys.

He was not willing to take it.

"Ben, you have to understand," Gil protested, glancing up at him from where he sat on the edge of the hearth with his hands linked between his legs, "I _know_ Catterson. If he says he will kill Joe if I am not surrendered by noon tomorrow, he means it."

"I understand that Gil," Ben said softly as he approached and took a seat on one of the red leather chairs beside the hearth. "But going to your death is not an option. I won't trade one of my boys for you." Ben paused. "Do you have any idea what happened? I mean, if the Indian – if Many Marks – didn't betray Catterson's company, who did?"

Gil drew in a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. "I've had a quarter of a century to puzzle that out, Ben. I'm thinking it was Forest Walton, who was Prescott's personal friend. He was the only one who had the opportunity since he went out with Many Marks' to scout the hacienda." The Scotsman rose and moved to the bottom of the stair. "I've heard rumors Forest was on the payroll of the Mexicans."

"And that's something Catterson would never have considered?"

His old friend nodded and then placed his hand on the newel post and looked up toward the second floor. Hop Sing had supper on the table and though none of them had an appetite, they were waiting for Gil's two remaining girls and Hoss to come down. Hoss had reinjured his leg and was barely able to walk. Watching his middle boy was painful, but not because of that.

Hoss had two brothers missing and in danger and there was nothing he could do about it and that, to put it simply, ate at his soul.

Ben shifted in his chair and glanced toward the door. While Gil had been otherwise occupied, he'd secretly sent for Roy Coffee. He'd asked the sheriff to come out to the ranch but to wear street clothes and to use something to mask his face just in case Catterson was watching from a distance. For all he knew Gil's old enemy had been in Virginia City for weeks now. He could know Roy on sight.

And that might get Joe – and maybe Adam too – killed.

Gil was pacing again. This time his restless energy took him to the area of the office. The Scotsman halted near the desk and lifted the portrait of Joe's mother he kept there and looked at it. When his friend realized he was watching, he turned with the frame still in his hand. "You know, Ben, there's only so much a man can bear. He gets tired. He wants to quit. He _needs_ to quit."

"Gil..."

"Not only have I endangered Marie's son – _and_ your oldest – but my child as well. We know now Fiona is not with Adam and Joe."

"Unless Catterson is lying," he reminded him. "He might not have the boys at all."

Ben could hear through the open window behind the desk the hustle and bustle of the end of a most extraordinary day. He had sent several ranch hands out earlier to search for Fiona. A few had returned near suppertime and were stabling their horses now. Other workers were heading for the bunkhouse and their beds. So far the men who had come back had brought no news of the girl's fate. He hesitated to send them, or any men, out again since Catterson might suspect they were in the area to hunt for Joe and Adam and react accordingly.

If she wasn't with the boys, that left Fiona completely alone.

Gil returned the portrait to its place on the desk. "I am going, Ben, to find Fiona and to turn myself into Catterson." When he began to protest, the Scotsman held up a hand to silence him. "I am not one of your sons. You _cannot_ order me to stay."

Ben crossed over to him and took him by the arm. "It will be your _death_ , man!"

Before Gil could answer a shout went up from the yard outside. One of his men called out, "Mister Cartwright, come here! Mister Cartwright! Come right now!"

The silver-haired man ran to the front door and threw it open, hoping against hope that he would find a pair of disheveled but very alive boys surrounded by his men. Instead he saw one untidy and obviously terrified girl sitting on the back of a horse next to Roy Coffee.

Fiona was home.

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Hoss had heard the ruckus and looked out the window of his upstairs bedroom just in time to see two horses ride into the yard. As soon as he recognized the woman rider as Fiona, he hobbled across the hall, knocked on the door of the room that held her sisters, and sent Deirdre and Ainslee flying down the stairs. The big man followed more slowly, leaning heavily on the solid cane that was his crutch, feeling for all the world as useless as a one-legged man in a two-legged race. By the time he reached bottom, Fiona had been taken in hand and brought into the Great Room where she sat with a blanket wrapped tightly about her quaking form and a sister on either side.

He couldn't help but smile. It plumb brought his heart pure joy to see a lost thing found.

Hop Sing walked into the room carrying a steaming mug of tea and made a beeline for the exhausted girl. "Here, Missy Fiona, you drink this," he said as he handed it to her. "Make you strong."

"Thank you, Hop Sing," the girl replied, taking a sip and then holding the cup in her trembling hands.

As Gil took a seat on the table in front of Fiona, Hoss felt a hand grip his arm. It was his pa. The silver-haired man directed him to the place where Roy Coffee waited. The sheriff explained how he had found Fiona stumbling through the town and once he'd heard her story, headed straight for the ranch. His father filled him in on what Fiona had told Roy as they traveled. She _had_ wandered off deliberately, frustrated and fearful, partly in search of Joe but mostly to make the rest of them follow and start the search quicker. While in the wood she had been accosted by two men and taken – bound and gagged – to their camp. There had been men there that frightened her, but one had been nice. His name was Garland Frank. Garland had listened to her tale before going off to talk with a tall, mean-looking man named Catterson. When he returned, Garland ordered one of the other men to saddle two horses and told her to mount and took her to Virginia City where he let her go.

Hoss frowned. Why would the man release such a valuable hostage as one of Gil's girls? There just had to be _more_ going on here than any of them realized.

Crossing over to where the family huddled together, his pa looked down at Fiona. She was pale as the bit of underpinnings that showed through the torn shoulder of her rust-colored dress.

"Gil, if I may?" he began.

His pa's old friend glanced up. "I asked her, Ben. She didn't see Joe or Adam."

The silver-haired man heard the same thing in Gil's voice that he did – there was more.

"But?" he prompted.

Fiona answered instead. "I overheard some of the men talking, Mister Cartwright. They don't have Joe and Adam, but they are sure they will soon."

His pa let out a sigh of relief. "So Catterson _was_ bluffing!"

Relief washed through Hoss as well. Dang them brothers of his! They _could_ take of themselves.

"There's something else, Mister Cartwright."

Fiona's tone made them both look straight at her. "What is it?" the older man asked.

Tears flooded her eyes and a tremble shook her small frame. "Little Joe's hurt. One of them shot him." She drew in a ragged breath. "They said they found a lot of blood at the entry to one of the river caves and it was enough that he might be...dead."

Hoss glanced at his pa, noting how much the older man had paled.

"Do you think they were telling the truth?" he asked. "You know, maybe they were just saying that so you would come back and tell us."

Fiona's red curls bounced on her shoulders as she shook her head. "I was pretending to be asleep. They didn't know I could hear them, and it was before Garland told them to let me go."

The big man thought about it, and then he remembered the man they had found dead and buried. They'd figured either Joe or Adam had tackled him and, knowing his little brother, it was most likely him what had done it.

"Pa, what're we gonna do? If Joe's out there bleeding to death somewhere..."

"He has Adam with him. He'll be all right." The older man said it as much to reassure himself as everyone else.

"But Pa, we don't _know_ that! They coulda been separated."

"Hoss, if you are suggesting _you_ ride out to find your brothers, the answer is no!" his father snapped. "Two sons are more than enough to worry about. I don't need to worry about _three!"_

Roy Coffee had remained silent throughout their discussion. Now he stepped forward. "Don't you worry, Hoss. I'll find your brothers. I'll raise me a posse and we'll – "

"You'll do no such thing!" Gil protested as he stood. "I will not endanger any more lives or give them as sacrifice to a precarious choice I made years ago. I will ride out, and I will ride out _alone_ and surrender myself to Prescott Catterson!"

A chorus of protests rose from the throats of the three girls. His pa held a hand up, calling them to silence as he faced his old friend. "I agree," the older man said. As Gil relaxed, Hoss thought to himself, ' _Wait for it_...'

"On one condition – I ride with you."

"Now Ben, even if Gil agreed, you can't just take the law into your own hands," Roy objected.

His father's trim form went rigid. "Those men are looking for my boys, Roy, and mean to hurt them. Yes, I can!"

"You know better," the sheriff scolded. "Let the law take care of it."

"But there's been no crime," Gil said, suddenly inspired. "The law can't go after a man for making a threat. Can it?"

"Well, no," Roy admitted.

"And we have no proof anyone shot Joe, only idle gossip," his pa added.

"And who says we are riding out looking for anyone?" The Scotsman threw a glance his father's way. "Ben has some land south of here he wants to show me."

Roy Coffee looked from one man to the other. The exasperated look on his face would have been comical if the situation hadn't been so downright awful. Raising a finger, he wagged it at them like they were ornery ill-behaved little boys.

"Well, if you ain't two of the most bull-headed, contrary, mulish men I ever done met! I may not be able to stop you going, but I sure as shootin' am going to stop you from doing somethin' stupid." He removed his badge from inside his coat and placed it in his pocket. "Ain't no one gonna know I'm the law. I'm going with you!"

"Roy, no," his father said.

The sheriff got that look, the one that squinted his eyes and drove his lips into a straight line. "Well, now, Ben, as you ain't on the town council or a state's marshal, so I don't see as you can stop me."

His pa almost smiled. "I suppose it wouldn't be worth trying?"

Roy shook his head. "Nope."

Hoss watched the wheels turn in that silver-capped head he loved so well. After a moment, the smile broke across his father's face. "Welcome aboard, Roy!" the older man laughed, giving the lawman a slap on the shoulder.

"I'll get my gear," Gil said, and then turned to find himself facing a wall of determined women.

"Da, you can't!" Ainslee protested as the others echoed her sentiments.

Gil reached out and touched her face. Then he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Aine, take your sister upstairs and help her into bed. She needs to rest."

Hoss watched as Ainslee's eyes flicked from her father to Deirdre. Her sister gave a small nod. "Very well," she said, catching Fiona about the shoulders and practically lifting her from the hearth. "Here. Deid, you take her up. I need to speak to Da."

As the two girls departed, Ainslee crossed to where her father stood. She took his hand in hers and started to speak.

He stopped her. "You, more than the others, Aine, know why this has to end."

From Ainslee's expression – it sorta looked like surprise mixed with guilt – it was clear she knew what her father was hinting at.

She shook her head. "Da, no..."

The Scotsman turned and looked at his father. "Ben, if you would excuse us for a minute."

"Certainly," the older man said. "Hoss, come outside with me."

"Sure thing, Pa," the big man agreed and followed him out the door.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Her father indicated the settee. "Ainslee, please sit down."

The blonde woman did as she was told, though all she wanted to do was run as far away as she could, as fast as she could. She settled on the small sofa and linked her fingers together, resting them on her dress.

Hoping the older man would miss the fact that they were trembling.

He covered them with his own. "Aine," he said, searching her eyes, "I know."

She started. "How? How could you?"

After giving her hands a little squeeze, her father leaned back. "When you came home from college, you weren't yourself. I hired a man – a detective of sorts – to find out what had happened."

"Da, really!" she snapped, a bit insulted.

He shrugged. "Father's prerogative – especially a hapless old father who finds himself solely responsible for a bevy of beauties such as you and your sisters." The older man paused, and then went on. "The truth, Aine. Did you love him?"

Panic made her breath come quickly. She looked down at her hands to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Her father would have none of it. He lifted her head by the chin. "Do you love him still?"

"Da..."

His other hand caressed her cheek. "Aine, pretend I'm your mother and not a silly old man. Tell me."

How could she? She'd been so young when she had gone off to the medical college and so alone without her sisters. Being of a serious mind, she had found it hard to make friends with the other girls who wanted to attend concerts and balls and flirt and dance with all the boys.

And they were that – _boys_.

Toward the end of the year Professor Prescott Catterson arrived. The first time she saw him, it had been that deep auburn hair she'd noticed, that and the look out of his piercing near-black eyes. They were sad and soulful and expressed without words the melancholy nature of his soul. He was a tall man – taller than her – and carried himself with military bearing. She'd always admired that in her father. If the truth be told, Catt reminded her of her father. It was part of the attraction.

Unfortunately, the likeness was only skin deep.

In the beginning they were no more than student and teacher. She attended his lectures on the newest innovations in medical treatments, many of which had been discovered during the course of the last two wars. Catt had a way of bringing it all to life, of making you understand that what you were learning would alter and improve the lives of those who would eventually be your patients – and sometimes even save them. It was all so exciting. One day she had remained behind to ask him to clarify a point. He invited her to dinner.

A week later, she was in his arms.

The romance had been a whirlwind. It came on so fast, in fact, that she was slightly embarrassed, and so she kept their relationship from her family, making no mention of it in her letters. By December they were talking about marriage.

By March, it was over.

She never really understood what had happened. One day Catt simply disappeared. When she asked the administrator of the school where he was, she was told that he had resigned and taken another post and left no forwarding address.

She did not go home that Christmas. Instead she made an excuse and remained at school. By the end of the school session, she decided she had mended enough to be able to face her family.

She never went back to school. The study of medicine lost its appeal. To be truthful, _life_ lost its appeal.

"Aine?"

She shook herself. "I'm sorry, Da. What is it you want to know?"

"Just what happened."

Ainslee shrugged. "Catt was my teacher. We flirted and I thought I had fallen in love, and then he deserted me. There's really nothing else to tell."

"Why didn't you tell us about him?"

Lifting a hand, she struck away a tear. "There are some things that belong to a woman alone."

"Like pain? Aine, we could have helped you."

Rising, she looked down at him. "Don't you understand? I didn't want your help _or_ your pity. I still don't!"

"Those are two different things."

"Are they?" she snapped. "I'm not so sure."

Her father reached for her hand. "All right. Please sit down. I have some other questions." At her look he quickly added, "Not about the past, but about the present."

She stared at him hard and then returned to her seat. "What do you want to know?"

"Did you know when we left Philadelphia that Catterson was here?"

"No. If I had, I wouldn't have come. I wouldn't have put you in jeopardy and _I_ certainly did not want to see him."

"All right. Is there anything you can think of – anything of character or purpose that would help us locate him yet tonight?"

She thought of what her friend had told her. "Da," she said softly, "you _are_ his purpose. For whatever reason, Catt wants you dead."

The older man looked thoughtful. He nodded. "I know. It's what I told Ben. It's me or Little Joe. I am sure you know that Prescott Catterson is a man of his word, if nothing else."

That stabbed her. No, she didn't. He had said he loved her, her had given her his 'word' that they would marry, and it had all been lies, lies, and _more_ lies.

"Yes," she said, lying herself.

"Aine, I am going to go with Ben and Roy and we are going to find and free Little Joe – and Adam if Catterson has him as well. I need you to be brave and to keep your sisters here. Will you promise to do that?"

Her voice trembled. "You want me to promise to let you kill yourself?"

It took a second, but he nodded. "There's no other way. I've lived my life. I've had a wife and raised a family. That young man deserves a chance to do the same. I will not have him lose that chance in order to save my neck!" The older man took her by the shoulders. His intensity surprised and, if truth be told, frightened her a bit. "Promise!"

As more tears fell, the blonde woman placed her hand on top of his. She couldn't say it, but she nodded.

And condemned her father to death.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"What do you suppose they're talkin' about in there, Pa?" Hoss asked.

Ben glanced at the door to the house, which was closed. "I imagine they're saying goodbye."

The big man swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with that. "Are you just gonna let Gil give hisself up, Pa?"

"Not if I can help it," the older man said as he turned back. "Between Roy and me, we should be able to prevent Gil from doing anything foolish."

"What if that there Catterson fella gets to Joe and Adam afore you do?"

The possibility haunted him. What _would_ he do? Could he exchange one life for another – even the life of a beloved son – and live with the choice?

"Son, there's a passage in the Bible that speaks to the fact that God gives a man what he needs when the time comes. I...don't have an answer. I will simply do what I have to do."

His middle son was quiet for a moment. "I wish I was going with you, Pa."

"I know you do." He reached out and placed a hand on Hoss' shoulder. "But you have just as important a job here."

His son's blue eyes narrowed. "Pa, no. You ain't gonna – "

"I need you to make sure none of Gil's girls follow us."

"Pa, that'll be like herding bobcats. They ain't gonna listen to me."

"You'll have to enlist the men – and Hop Sing – but whatever you do, do _not_ let those young ladies follow us. It would put not only them in danger, but your brothers." He squeezed the big man's flesh. "The best thing you can do for Joe and Adam is _keep them_ _here."_

"Well, maybe..." Hoss grinned. "Maybe if I call in all the ropers and hogtie them."

Ben laughed. "That sounds like a plan."

At that moment the door to the house opened and his old friend stepped out, closely followed by Roy Coffee. He'd sent the sheriff up to his room and told him to change into some of his extra clothes. It was odd to see the lawman dressed up like a rancher with a leather vest and a kerchief tied around his neck.

"Will I do?" Roy asked as they came alongside him.

"Just don't give up the law anytime soon," he laughed. Turning to his middle son, he said, "Hoss, if you feel like it, will you go and get Buck out of the stable, and bring a good solid mount for Gil? They should already be saddled."

"Sure thing, Pa. I'll be glad to have something to do."

As Hoss limped toward the stable, Ben turned toward his old friend. Gil was staring off into the distance, pensive. He touched his shoulder and when the Scotsman turned, addressed him. "Gil, I don't intend to deliver you to Catterson without a fight."

"It could mean the life of one or both of your boys, Ben. Are you prepared for that?"

Was he? _Was_ there any way to prepare for such a thing?

"No, Gil, I am not prepared for that. But neither am I prepared to hand over a friend to a man who means to kill him. There has to be another way."

"And if there's not..."

Gil's words hung in the air.

Ben's jaw grew tight. "Then I'll make that choice when I have to."


	5. Part Five

THIRTEEN

Adam was back in the cave, seated on the floor, wondering if he had ever been anywhere else, or if the whole time he had spent with Red Leaf and Yellow Bear had been nothing but a dream. Or maybe a better word for it was, a vision. His heart was racing wildly, running like a thoroughbred bent on bursting through the finish line first, and he felt stiff and a little lightheaded. Whatever it was that Many Marks had given him to drink, it had left him dry-mouthed and feeling slightly sick. Reaching up with a finger, he drove away a bit of spittle that hung on his lower lip. The taste of it was acrid, like the scent of sulfur that colored the air of the chamber he was in.

"What am I doing here?" he whined to himself. How was this going to help Joe? For all he knew his brother might be dead, or maybe stolen away by an Indian shaman who believed erroneously that Little Joe was somehow meant to be 'one' with his Thunderbird. He had to get back, had to make sure Joe was all right.

He had to get them both out of there.

Adam rose to his feet and stood there swaying for several heartbeats. The room spun around him at a dizzying pace, drawing in the shadows that edged it like dark pigment stirred into white paint, changing, coalescing, taking shape. He fully expected Red Leaf and Yellow Bear to reappear. They didn't. Someone else did.

Or _something_ else.

The black-haired man stumbled back, not stopping until he encountered a wall. Before him stood a man – or at least, it was something _like_ a man. He was tall and powerfully built. His chest was bare and covered with tattoos; his head shaved, with the exception of a single scalplock that hung to the left of his face. A cloak comprised of black feathers lay across his broad shoulders and dripped from his outstretched arms, falling in an ebon wave to the cavern floor. On his feet were odd leather shoes made to resemble a bird's talons. The man's face was long and hawkish and his eyes were closed.

When he spoke, his voice was thunder echoing over the hills.

 _White man, why are you here?_

Adam stepped away from the wall. So maybe this was who he had been sent to find – a shaman _dressed_ as a Thunderbird.

At least he _hoped_ it was a shaman dressed as a Thunderbird.

"Are you Nenimkee?" he asked.

 _I am._

Ben Cartwright's eldest son planted his feet and lifted his chin. "I have come to ask you to release my brother." It felt silly to say it, but then again he _was_ in a cave talking to what might prove in the end to be the embodied spirit of a giant bird.

Nenimkee's head cocked to one side, birdlike. _Your brother is mine. What will you give me in exchange for him?_

Adam did not hesitate. "Take me."

The figure before him drew his feathered cloak about his strong frame and glided across the cave floor, so smoothly it seemed his feet did not touch. He stopped before him and asked, _You would sacrifice yourself?_

Adam nodded. "Yes. Now let my brother go."

The shaman's eyes remained closed and still, it seemed the man studied him. After a moment his thin lips twitched and formed something akin to a smile. _Many Marks has chosen well. You will do._

"Do for what?"

 _Many Marks is wrong. I do not desire a life nor am I looking for a keeper. What I desire is your aid in fulfilling my mission._

"While I would love to do that," Adam hedged, "my brother needs me. Joe may be dying..."

 _The circle is all_ , _Adam Cartwright,_ the Thunderbird said. _It was I who drove the fiery one to scale the rock tower. I, who chose to let him fall. If Joseph Cartwright had not been wounded, you would not be here. If you were not needed here, he would not have been wounded._ The shamanic figure paused and then repeated, _The circle is all._

Adam swallowed hard. How did the man know about Joe's fall from the rocks – or know their names? Unless, maybe, Many Marks had told him.

 _Do you know why I and the others like me are here?_

"'The 'others' meaning more Thunderbirds?" He shook his head. "No."

 _It is the Creator's design that we guard the gates of Heaven and make certain justice is had upon the earth below. You will bring justice. That will save your brother's life._

"Justice to who? And for what?"

Nenimkee leaned in, so close their faces were nearly touching. Then he opened his eyes. As lightning flashed he spoke.

 _See._

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright groaned as he came back to consciousness. He was laying on his back on a hard surface and everything – and that meant _everything –_ hurt. When he shifted and tried to rise an intense fire tore through his left shoulder, reminding him that he had been shot and infection had set in and that was why he felt like Hell. It took him a minute or two more to remember that he was in one of the passageways that connected the series of caves that dotted the landscape by Lake Tahoe. He had been searching for Adam when he heard voices. There had been men – men who were hunting _him_. He remembered backing into a niche in the wall and hiding until they'd passed, and then striking out to locate his brother Adam, and then...

Then...

Joe's eyes flew open and he looked around. He couldn't see much. The only light in the passageway was dim and must have come from some sort of luminescent cave plant or other natural source. Still, he had been in the caves for so long now that his eyes had adjusted and it was kind of like walking outside on a night without a moon or stars. He could make out shapes and sense movement.

There was a large shape close to his feet and it was moving.

The brown-haired man sucked in a breath and held it as the last thing he had seen before passing out – a great winged creature with a bald head and bright eyes – flashed before his own. He remembered the bird reaching toward him and covering him with its wings.

Suddenly Joe became aware that one of them covered him now. Though the creature lay at his feet like a faithful watch dog, it had one great wing extended and he was sheltered under it like a chick. That's why he felt warm, why he wasn't shivering.

It might be why he was still alive.

Another minute or two passed as he considered what to do. The only plausible explanation he could come up with was that Hoss' Thunderbirds were real. He tried to remember what his brother had told him about the supposedly mythic creatures that the Indians believed in. They controlled the weather and fought against some kind of serpent, and had something to do with making wrong things right. He thought they were supposed to be friendly to man. As Joe shifted to ease the pain in his shoulder, his fingertips encountered a bank of feathers. A heartbeat later the creature stirred, lifted its head, and looked at him.

Joe swallowed hard. He sure _hoped_ they were friendly.

"Hey, there, Mister Thunderbird," he said as he backed out from under the wing and rose shakily to his feet, "how's it going?"

The bird's bald head cocked at a quizzical angle, as if it was as puzzled by this encounter as he was. It snorted and then hissed like a snake as it folded in the wing.

"Thanks," he said, and then cleared his throat, "thanks for watching over me. You _were_ watching over me, weren't you? I mean you weren't just waiting to...eat me or something?"

Like someone using his elbow to rise, the bird leaned on the joint of its wing and reared up off of the floor. He'd known it was big, but as it straightened up, Joe realized it was almost as tall as he was. It hissed and snorted again, and then shook itself and stretched like a man does after a long, restful sleep. It's wings spanned the passageway.

It had to be twelve or fourteen feet wide.

"N...N...Nenimkee, that's your name, right?" Joe stammered as a sudden chill took him. He winced. "Nice Nenimkee..."

His answer was another snort. It almost sounded dismissive. But then again, it might have just been a snort and this might _just_ be a bird – maybe it was some kind of pet belonging to the old shaman.

A really _big_ pet.

"Hey, Nenimkee," Joe said, glad there was no one around to hear, "you think you could lead me out of here? You know, maybe help me find my brother? Adam's down here somewhere. You'd...like Adam..."

It was looking at him. _Right_ at him. Joe met the Thunderbird's eyes and for just a moment seemed to sense a human intelligence behind them.

Curiously, it seemed to be amused.

"Unless, of course, you have some other idea..."

The giant bird made a clicking noise and then, again, it hissed like a snake. It's head pivoted from side to side as if it was stretching its neck and then it turned and began to lumber along the passageway. Joe hesitated, but knew he had only a second to decide whether or not to follow. If it _was_ a Thunderbird, it might be leading him to Adam. But then again, it might not. He'd just remembered another thing about them. The Paiutes called the giant birds 'tricksters'. That meant they liked to play tricks, like ornery little kids.

As the bird's tail feathers dragged into the darkness, Joe moved to follow.

He'd find out soon enough.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam stood alone on a windswept plain. The sky overhead was a black veil punctured every so often by lightning. There was a sting of rain in the air and in the distance, the sound of thunder rumbling over the land. Before him lay a long low structure and beyond it, a series of gently rising hills. To either side was desert. It wasn't the Ponderosa. Maybe it wasn't even Nevada. But wherever it was, someone was dying.

A man's cry drifted across the hot steaming sand, carried on the back of a blistering wind.

The man in black instinctively reached for his gun only to find he didn't have it. Puzzled, Adam frowned even as his fingers searched his holster's interior as if – miraculously – he might find the missing weapon tucked away in a corner. He seldom left the house without a gun. He knew he's had one when he started off in pursuit of Joe – two, in fact, since he carried his brother's.

What was going on here?

Another cry, lower this time and punier, made his head turn. Whoever it was, was nearby, and they were in trouble. Gun or not, he had to go see if there was anything he could do. Following a bloody trail drug through the sand, Adam struck off due west. As the desert fell away beneath his boots, the man's cries were reduced to whimpers, as if he was growing weaker. Or at least, that's what he thought until he found him. The injured man wasn't weakening, he was terrified.

So was he.

The man lay on the desert floor. It took a moment, but Adam recognized him as Many Marks. Above him, on a high rock wall, loomed a great black bird. The Indian scout scrambled back, as the bird spread its wings and swooped down, landing bare inches from him.

Adam dropped to a crouch and placed some gorse between him and them. From his position of safety he watched the native stagger to his feet. Panting, the injured man leaned against a boulder even as a bolt of lightning jolted across the sky and the thunder rumbled, shaking the land beneath their feet.

In the thunder, there was words.

 _*You must come with us.*_

The native shook his head. "No. I must return to tell the Captain what I know."

The creature rose up. It spread its massive wings wide, blotting out the sky. * _You must come with us*._

"No," the native declared. "Jenkins will die."

 _*He is not your concern. We are your concern, Many Marks.*_

"Catterson knows he let me go. To a white man that is treason. Jenkins saved me – "

 _*We saved you so you could come with us and be prepared.*_

Many Marks limped forward. "Prepared for what?"

The great bird shifted. It opened its colossal wings again and closed them two times, driving wind and rain before it.

 _*For the time when you will be used. Now, you will come!*_

Adam rose to his feet as the creature took to the sky. He looked for Many Marks but the Indian was gone. Seconds later the lightning flashed again, so close this time that sound and light came as one.

The power of the blast forced him to close his eyes and fall back. When he opened them again, he was in a different place. A small structure, something like one of their line shacks, lay before him. Rain was falling. The smell of hot wet sand and weeds assaulted his senses. After glancing at the sky and checking – he had to admit – to see if a great black shape hovered there, Adam approached the shack from the back side.

As he drew near he heard men's voices. One of them had a thick Scottish accent. It only took a moment to realize it was Gil Jenkins.

"There won't _be_ a trial – dinnae you understand?" he said, his whisper fierce. "The Captain's goin' to _hang_ you. You must go! Many Marks, think of your family and your bairns. What will _they_ do with you dead? Well?"

"You will hang instead," the Indian replied.

"I will nae. Captain Catterson can nae harm me. There is no war yet. I did nothin' wrong." Reaching into the small structure, Gil took hold of Many Marks' arm and drew him out. A second later he had taken his place. "I'll tell them you overpowered me. Here," he lifted his gun from its holster and held it out, "take this. Strike me with it."

Many Marks looked at the gun in his hand and then at him. "Why do you do this, Doctor Jenkins? You too have a family and a hope for a life."

Adam could see Jenkins' face. It was solemn.

"Because it's right."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe shot out a hand to keep himself from falling. He was breathing hard again and at the end of his strength. The creature he followed moved like something in a dream. Just when he thought he had caught up to the Thunderbird, it would become one with the shadows and disappear and he would have to scramble to find its trail. Finally, he had begun to look for sign. There were tracks left by its talons, and the bird's shed feathers shone in the meager light. He began to collect them as he went.

The last one had been covered in blood.

The brown-haired man couldn't be sure, but he thought the Thunderbird was wounded. Of course, the blood could have been _his_ , transferred when the creature watched over him. Still, he didn't think it was. Unfortunately, the giant bird seemed hell-bent on going deeper into the caves. Maybe, like some animals, it was looking for a special place to die. Joe scowled. He'd like to have been heading toward the light and the surface instead. He was still half-afraid he was going to die down here alone and spend eternity as a pile of picked over bones. But he couldn't desert the Thunderbird, not after it had helped him.

A click, hiss, and snort caught his attention. Joe looked and found the bulk of the curious creature blocking the corridor. It's piercing eyes shone in the unnatural light of the corridor.

It was staring right at him.

Joe gulped. "Did...did you need s...something?" he stuttered.

It hissed again and rolled to the side, leaving the passage open and seeming to indicate that he should pass through.

"You want _me_ to...go ahead?"

Another hiss _and_ a snort this time.

He guessed that meant 'yes'.

Mustering what he had left of both courage and strength, Joe pushed off the wall and headed for the Thunderbird. As he drew close he felt its warmth call out to him. His pants were torn open and there was next to nothing left of his shirt. The bandages he wore were soaked through with sweat and fresh blood. He was clammy and cold and shivering and wanted nothing more than to lie down beside the bird's great hulk and snuggle into its feathers. But he couldn't. He _couldn't_ give in.

He wanted to help the Thunderbird and he _had_ to find his brother.

The creature remained still as he came alongside it. Joe could hear its heart pounding and felt the heat of its breath as he moved past. Once he was through the great bird shifted back to so it blocked the passageway again. As it did, he heard voices on the other side, back the way they had come, calling out his name. It was Burley and Lane. They were hunting him.

And the Thunderbird was trying to save him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam's head was spinning. As his time with the Thunderbirds drew to a close, the images he was being shown came more quickly. He saw Gilchrist Jenkins taken into custody by soldiers, accused of aiding and abetting Many Marks' escape, and Prescott Catterson's order for Gil to be executed by hanging. He watched as Catterson's concerns were summarily dismissed by his superior officers and the man vowed he would find proof. He saw Catterson, in the desert meeting with his men, ordering them to go to Many Mark's village and burn it to the ground. There were men and women, running, children too, trying to escape the hail of bullets that rained down on their lodges and tents.

And there was one last image – Many Marks, kneeling in a field littered with scorched corpses.

Red Leaf and Yellow Bear among them.

The man in black sucked in air like a swimmer breaking the surface. He rose to his feet and stumbled over to the wall to brace himself. Adam was surprised to find that he was incredibly sore and somewhat weak, as if he had actually experienced all he had seen and heard. As he stood, catching his breath, the man in black realized he was soaked in sweat and trembling from head to foot.

 _What_ had just happened?

As a boy he had seen something like this. A shaman, dream questing as they sometimes called it, seeking truths that were hidden and could only be revealed by those on the other side. The potion Many Marks had given him had somehow propelled him into the events that had happened so long ago, revealing that justice _had_ been left undone. Was this, then, what the Thunderbird shaman meant when he told him that there was something he had to set right? Adam ran a hand over his face, driving back the feeling of leaden fatigue that threatened to overcome him.

Still, how could he be certain that what he had seen was _real?_

The black-haired man waited a few more seconds for his head to clear before starting back the way he had come. He had to question the old Indian. It was possible Many Marks was the only living witness to the events that had happened and the only one who might be able to convince Catterson that Walton – not Gil or Many Marks – was the one who betrayed him and his men.

Adam hadn't gone very far when he heard a noise that stopped him. Someone was coming his way. From their advancing shadow, they were moving unsteadily and might even be injured. He could hear ragged breathing. The desperate sound echoed down the corridor, arriving before they did.

Flattening himself against the cave wall Adam waited, every sense alert. It was almost impossible to see, though a vague sort of light illumined the passageway, most likely caused by a plant similar to Foxfire. Within seconds a shadowy figure entered his line of vision. Whoever it was stumbled into the passage, turned and looked back the way they had come, and began to collapse.

"Adam..."

"Good God!" he cursed, his whisper tense. "Joe!"

Adam literally dove from his hiding place and caught his brother just before Joe's slender form would have struck the floor. His body was on fire. Adam touched his brother's face and started to call him, but fell silent when he heard another sound.

Someone else was coming.

FOURTEEN

It was a good thing he was a big man. It took all of him to blockade the front door and keep Gil Jenkins' girls from escaping. They was mighty sore at him cause he'd done about everything he could do to stop them short of hogtying the three of them and leaving them behind while he hid every horse and wagon on the ranch. A few minutes before they'd fired their last volley – using a woman's most fiendish, sure-fired and underhanded method to break a man.

They'd all started crying.

He wasn't budging.

"Now, ladies, you heard my pa _and_ your'n. If'n you go out there, you're just gonna make things worse for both of them _and_ Adam and Little Joe. There ain't nothin' you can do to help!"

Deirdre marched straight over and turned her tear-streaked face up toward him. She poked him in the chest to emphasize every word. "And here I thought you were a gentleman! I don't know how I could have been _so_ wrong about someone. You're just like every _other_ man, you think we women haven't got a brain in our heads!"

"Now, than ain't true, Miss Deid..."

"Don't you _Miss Deid_ me, you lout! If anything happens to my father, I will never forgive you!"

Fiona came up beside her. "And if anything happens to Little Joe, _I_ won't ever forgive you!"

Hoss held his breath, waiting for the third part of the Jenkins' trinity to pass final judgment. When it didn't come, the big man looked at Ainslee. She was standing by the fire, staring into the flames. She'd been the quietest of the three, not saying much, though it was clear she wanted to go after her pa.

"What about you, Miss Ainslee?" he asked.

It took a second, but she turned toward him. "Hoss is right. It's no use."

Deirdre and Fiona turned in chorus. "What?"

"We'd only get in the way," she said. "Maybe if certain...parties were cooperative, we could help, but as it is we don't know the lay of the land, the paths through it, or anything else." Ainslee sighed. "We'd just be giving Catterson three more hostages against fate."

Hoss's fingers relaxed where they gripped the doorjamb. Maybe he wasn't going to have to resist all three of them barreling through at once. "Now, you two listen to your sister. She's right smart."

Those big brilliant blue eyes that had looked on him with love were cold as ice now. Deirdre scoffed at him and then rounded on her sister. "So what is it you propose we do, Aine? Sit here and _do_ nothing!"

Fiona's hands were firmly anchored on her slender hips. "Yes. What _she_ said!"

Ainslee approached him. She reached out a hand and touched his arm. Her voice, when she spoke, was sweet and conciliatory. "Surely there's _something_ we can do to help, Hoss. You just tell us what it is."

He lowered his arms. "Well, Miss Ainslee, I don't rightly know as there is. Truth to tell I feel just as useless as you three do – maybe more. As a man I oughta be out there looking for my brothers, but this here game leg is stopping me." He struck his thigh. "Dag blame it!"

The eldest Jenkins' girl regarded him a minute. "I noticed Hop Sing rolling bandages. Is he going to head out to help look for Joe and Adam?"

The big man winced and nodded. "Pa thought it'd be right smart to be prepared...just in case."

"He's probably preparing food too?" she asked.

He nodded again.

"Well, the least we can do is help with both. Isn't that right, sisters?"

Hoss looked from one to the other. They were smiling and nodding.

Why did that make his skin crawl?

"Now you ain't planning anything, are you Miss Ainslee? Like sneaking out the kitchen door?"

She looked all innocence. "Even if I wanted to, how could I? Hop Sing would stop me."

She had him there. Hop Sing was pretty strong – and he had knives.

Hoss thought a moment. "I ain't sure I'm comfortable with all three of you being in the kitchen together."

"Fiona and I will bring the bandages in to the table so you can keep an eye on us, if that will make you feel better," Deirdre said, her tone curt.

He glanced from one to the other. Something was up. He could feel it. 'Sides, he knew how it was with him and Adam and Joe. They didn't have to say a word, but they understood one another. Still, if he was watching Deidre and Fiona and Hop Sing was keeping track of Ainslee, everything should be all right.

Shouldn't it?

"Well, I guess it's okay," he relented.

"We'll feel better if we're busy," Ainslee said. "You know how women like to be busy. Now why don't you go sit down and rest that leg and let us get to what we do best."

Hoss thought another minute and then surrendered his hold on the door. When the three of them didn't rush the opening, his mind eased a bit. With his cane in hand, he hobbled over to the fire and took a seat in one of the big red chairs. A few minutes later Deirdre came over and without a word lifted his foot and put a stool under it.

A few minutes later they settled into the picture of domesticity as Fiona and Deirdre took a seat at the table and began to strip and roll linens, and Ainslee retired to the kitchen to help Hop Sing.

It was maybe an hour later when Hoss figured out something was wrong. He looked at the pair at the table and noted that their heads were together and they were talking quietly under their breath – and giggling.

It was then he realized there was a strange noise coming from the kitchen.

As he rose Deirdre and Fiona looked at him and smiled. They smiled still as he passed the table and entered the short hall leading to the kitchen. They were probably still smiling when he turned the corner and found Hop Sing trussed up in the corner with the cord he used to tie up the roast beef.

As Hop Sing told him later when he had been liberated – a patient woman can roast an ox with a lantern.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Prescott Catterson was not a happy man. Adam and Joe Cartwright were still free. Ben Cartwright would not be fooled for long unless he had at least one of his sons in hand and could show the boy to him. He had checked in at the camp with Garland and found that the men were still canvassing the tunnels. In the end he decided to join them in the hunt. Since Cartwright was not coming until noon – which was about three hours away – there was time and, invested as his men were in finding justice for their fellow soldiers, none of them had the demons driving them like he did. He would find Ben Cartwright's sons. He _would_ take them.

And he would use them to destroy the man who had wronged him.

Garland proceeded him, carrying a torch. They had just found and left a chamber that had obviously been occupied not all that long before. From the look of it, the man who lived there was a native and he was guessing it was Many Marks. Catterson snorted. Here, the old man had been under their noses all along. He wondered where he was now – with the Cartwrights? Or maybe the Indian was on the run, frightened that he was about to be found out and knowing what would follow. The former scout would be an old man now – well over seventy years of age. The damage Walton inflicted to his leg would have been lifelong, so he couldn't move quickly. It shouldn't be hard to find him and take him, and then most likely they'd find Adam and Joe too. There were indications among Many Marks' things that he had treated someone who was injured. They'd found a clay dish with a bloody bullet in it.

Joe Cartwright had been shot.

"Pres," Garland said, gripping his arm and indicating the passage before them.

He looked and saw Lane and his brother, Burley, coming out of it. Lane waved and then hurried forward. "We got 'em trapped, Pres. Way down deep."

"Who?"

"That kid Lane shot, and his brother," Burley snarled. Lane's older sibling was an ugly man, both in spirit and form. He was a brute who craved killing like other men craved sex. Prescott loathed him but, unfortunately, sometimes you just had to have a soldier who had no moral compass.

"The Cartwrights, then," he breathed. 'Take me to them."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam drew back into the shadows as best he could. He was holding Joe who, thankfully, had passed out. Whoever approached was moving slowly, which gave him time to adjust his grip and pull Joe in close. There was an indentation in the wall behind him and he tried the best he could to become one with it. If these were the men who had pursued them earlier and they spotted them, they were done. Joe couldn't run and he couldn't leave Joe.

Catterson would have them and that would be the end of it.

Drawing in a breath, Adam held it and waited as the man appeared in the opening. He was dragging a leg. It didn't take very long to recognize the man and put a name to him.

"Many Marks!" Adam exclaimed, easing forward.

The old man halted and turned toward his voice. He approached and knelt by their side. "You must go," he said.

Adam frowned. "Go? Go where?"

"To make things right."

He could feel Joe's breath on his skin and his brother's weakening heartbeat pounding breast to breast. "I can't leave my brother."

Many Marks reached out and touched Joe's face. "The Thunderbird explained to me what he wants from you. He has sent me to watch over your brother so you can go."

Adam looked at Joe. He was pale. His breathing was shallow. If he was honest with himself, his kid brother was probably dying. "I can't..." he began. "I can't leave him."

"Then _all_ will die."

His jaw tightened. He knew Many Marks spoke the truth. If he stayed here, he chanced dooming not only Joe but the Indian and Jenkins, and maybe his father too. Catterson _had_ to be looking for them. "Will you protect him?" he asked. " _If_ I go?"

The old man sighed. "For as long as I am able. The Thunderbirds have called me. I go to them soon."

Adam shook his head. "Then Catterson will take him! I can't do that!"

"If you do not go now, Catterson will take you _both._ Only if you are free – only _then_ is there a chance to save your brother. You _must_ do the Thunderbirds' will."

The Thunderbird's will. Adam looked at Joe and was stabbed by a presentiment of loss. What would their house be like without his ornery, ebullient, emotional, expressive and irreplaceable presence? For all the times he had wanted to shake some sense into his brother's curly brown head or wished Joe was out on the range so he'd have some peace and quiet, he couldn't imagine living without him.

Couldn't imagine Joe lying quiet and cold in a wooden box.

Adam gasped like he was coming up for air. Many Marks said nothing, but placed a hand on his shoulder. The man in black gripped Joe even tighter and then surrendered him and placed him in the native's arms.

"You've got my heart there," he said softly as he rose.

"While there is breath in Many Marks, he will guard him."

Adam choked back the emotion that threatened to unman him. "That's all I can ask."

The old man looked up at him. "You go to stop Catterson?"

He nodded. "Yes."

The Indian's aged hand found his. "The Thunderbird goes with you."

Adam glanced at the opening through which Many Marks had come. There were shadows there, large ones, shifting as if alive.

He nodded and was gone.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"They're down there, Pres," Lane said, pointing into the darkness. "We've got them trapped."

Prescott Catterson nodded. They'd descended until they were quite deep in the caves, so deep the walls were lined with a weird sort of plant growth that cast an eerie disturbing light as it reflected their torches. There were shadows within shadows and at times, it seemed they were alive. As they moved along the corridor they became the images of the men he had lost during the war. They leered at him, challenging him to make things right, to free them at last and let them go to their rest.

"Pres, you gotta come here."

Lane's voice was odd. It sent a chill up his spine. "What is it?" he asked as he headed for the other man who was standing just outside of an offshoot of the passage they were in.

Lane nodded over his shoulder. "Looks like we're expected."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam paused to catch his breath. Many Marks had sent him out of the opposite end of the chamber they occupied, explaining that there was a quick passage to the surface that he would find not too far down the corridor, with a sort of natural stair. It came out near the tower of rocks where this whole thing had started and would put him on the road back to the Ponderosa and help. He had to face it, most likely by now Joe and Many Marks were in Catterson's hands. His only hope was that the former army captain needed Joe as a hostage and would do his best to keep him alive.

He doubted he could have the same hope for Many Marks.

The stair was narrow – barely as wide as his shoulders – and it was difficult to navigate. By the time he emerged he was bathed in sweat, his fingers bloodied, and his face smeared with dirt. Adam hit the ground running and ran for all he was worth, back toward the ranch, back toward home and hearth and help, hoping to Hell that he had made the right choice and that he had not just condemned his little brother to death.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright removed his hat and dragged a hand through his near-white hair. Raising three boys had done it, he thought; turned his brown locks white and him into an older man. Still, he would not have traded one hour with his three boys. They were all precious and unique, and though they tried a man at times – especially that youngest one – they were all that mattered in his life, worth far more than the empire he had built. He glanced at his old friend where he sat by the fire and considered the choices he might have to make this day. They would not be easy. Anticipating that things might not go the way he hoped, he had asked Roy Coffee to trail a ways behind them. The sheriff had agreed to wait an hour and then follow in their tracks.

Backup, Ben thought. Backup. ...just in case.

The older man tipped his hat back as he returned it to his head and looked at the sun. It was still a few hours before noon. There was time. Time to find Joe and Adam. Time to stop Prescott Catterson.

Time to save Gil from himself.

"You know, Gil," he said as he returned to the small fire they had kindled where his friend was sitting, sipping coffee out of a cup, "you're not responsible for any of this."

His friend snorted. "I'm responsible for it _all._ If I had let Catterson carry out his sentence twenty-five years ago, none of this would have happened. Your sons wouldn't be in danger. My daughter would not have been...destroyed."

Gil had told him about Ainslee and her relationship with Catterson on the way to the lake. "Does she still love him?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I'm afraid she does. It doesn't matter."

Ben sipped his coffee and then asked, "Think about it, Gil. Could you have done anything else? About Many Marks, I mean."

"I was a soldier, Ben. The Indian's death would not have been my fault." He snorted. "What is it every good soldier says? 'I was just following orders'."

The silver-haired man was silent a moment. "I'm sure that's what Catterson said."

He watched the words hit his friend hard. Gil put his cup on the ground and then covered his face with his hands. "Good God, Ben! What am I? What have I _become?"_

Ben placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're just a man, Gil. A man like any of us, prone to mistakes and filled with regrets. Take hold of that, Gil, _make_ something of it. If we can stop Prescott Catterson now, we can put all of your demons to rest."

Gil remained silent for several heartbeats, processing his words, and then looked up. A pale grin lifted the corners of his lips. "I've been wallowing a bit in self-pity, haven't I?"

Ben smiled. "A bit."

Gil rose to his feet. "All right. Let's go meet Catterson." At his look he added, "I promise you that I will do everything I can to come out of this alive – but your boys come first. Remember that, Ben. They're young men, with much of their lives before them. I've had a good run."

The words of gratitude choked in his throat, so the silver-haired man merely nodded as his friend headed for his horse. Ben emptied his cup on the fire and then kicked some dirt on the coals. When he was done, he looked back the way they had come. They'd passed the place where Hoss had fallen from his horse an hour or so before and figured they were about an hour out from the rendezvous point Catterson had set. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen soon.

He just prayed they all came out of it alive.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe returned to consciousness just in time to hear someone say, 'Looks like we're expected.' He rolled to the side, as far as his screaming wound would allow, and saw a man standing in the middle of the rocky chamber. He was holding a torch that revealed his buckskin leggings and glinted off of his bare chest.

It was Many Marks.

The Indian remained absolutely still as two men appeared in the entry to the cavern. One was short and stout, his coloring light and his clothes those of a cowhand. The other man wore a dark suit and had a head of deep auburn hair that shone like a copper kettle in the light of Many Marks' torch. When the redhead saw the Indian, his body went rigid as a spike. He hesitated briefly and then marched over to the elderly native and struck him so hard across the cheek that the Shawnee was driven to the ground.

Fury filled Joe, fueling a body way beyond rising to do so. He stood, wobbling for a moment, and then staggered forward. The man with the auburn hair turned toward him. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His message was all too clear.

It was delivered at the end of Joe's own pearl-handled gun.

"The next step you take will be your last, Mister Cartwright."

Joe scowled. "Who are you?" he asked between sharply drawn breaths. "And how do you know who _I_ am?"

"My name is Prescott Catterson. Does that mean anything to you?"

He'd heard the name, like something in a dream. Maybe Adam had mentioned it? "No. I don't know you."

"Oh, but you do. You just don't know it. Or maybe, I should say, you know – _knew_ my brother."

Joe swayed, feeling lightheaded. He didn't know anyone named Catterson. He was sure of it. "I don't – "

The man approached him, the pistol still aimed at his belly. "His name was Mace. You met him a few days back, Cartwright," the redhead snarled, coming so close the barrel touched his exposed skin. "When you or your brother shoved him over the edge of those rocks and sent him to his _death_."

Joe tried to suppress it, but he didn't have the strength. He shivered. "It was me," he admitted, "but I didn't shove him. I tackled him to stop him from...shooting Adam." He swallowed hard. "We both...fell."

The tip of the barrel pressed up, under a rib. "Convenient."

The other man who had entered with Catterson was standing a watch over Many Marks. Joe heard him clear his throat. "Pres?" he began.

Catterson's black eyes were fixed on him. Joe felt hate radiating out of them – hate and a desire to end his life right here and now.

"What?" Catterson growled.

"I thought you said we needed him."

It was only seven ordinary little words, but they saved his life. The auburn-haired man closed his eyes. For a second, he fought with himself. Then he opened them again. "Damn," he said.

A second before he used the pistol to cold cock him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Prescott Catterson straddled the fallen body of Joe Cartwright with his legs and pointed the gun at the kid's head. It would be so easy. So _right_. And yet, if he gave in to the need for personal revenge, that would leave him with no hostage to hold against Ben Cartwright. For the first time Prescott glanced around. Joe's older brother, Adam, was nowhere in sight. He had thought at first that the man in black must be hiding, but when he struck the kid and no one came to his rescue, he changed his mind. Adam must have found a way out. He was probably headed back to the Ponderosa for help. Prescott pulled his watch out of his pocket and looked at the time. Quarter 'til eleven.

He'd never make it in time.

Stepping back, the redhead tucked Joe's gun behind his belt and then turned to look at Garland. "Bring _him_ here," he ordered, indicating the native who lay on the cave floor.

Garland bent down and lifted the Shawnee to his feet. Prescott watched as the broken old Indian walked haltingly forward, favoring the leg that Forest Walton had put a bullet in so long ago. When both stopped, he told the other man, "Get Burley. Have him help you carry the Cartwright kid to the surface."

The corporal scowled. "Burley? Pres, I don't know why you keep him around. I heard him the other night, grousing. I don't know that you can trust him."

Prescott shrugged. "Maybe not, but I need him." He waved Cartwright's gun. "Now, go."

Garland knelt beside Joe Cartwright. Then he dared to challenge him again. "Pres, maybe it would be better to just let this go..."

He pinned the other man with a determined stare. "That's enough, corporal! You have your orders."

As Garland complied, lifting the boy and bearing him toward the cave opening, Prescott turned to look at Many Marks.

The Indian was awake.

"The boy killed your brother no more than I killed your friend," he said quietly.

"Is that right?" he asked, his jaw tightening with impending rage. "Well, just like there was no one but Cartwright and Mace, there was no one there that night but you and Forest. You got rid of him so he couldn't tell how you had betrayed your own company!"

The Indian's face was sober. "You are wrong. There was another man there."

"Another? What do you mean?" The redhead took hold of the old man's shoulders and shook him so hard the feathers fell out of his hair. "Who _else_ was there?"

"A man who was not his own man, but came from one called Don Miguel."

Catterson blinked. _No_. "What did you say?"

"We were met by a man who came from Don Miguel. He told your friend as he shot him that Don Miguel was 'sending him to a place where the streets were paved with gold.'"

He shook his head. "No. That's not possible. We had a deal with Don Miguel. He was instrumental in letting us know about Alejandro and in giving us access to the hacienda."

It was Many Marks turn to be surprised. "You? It was _you_ who betrayed your men?"

"No. No!" He licked his lips. "The war just wouldn't come. The politicians were arguing and looking for angles while our country was under threat. I found out that Don Alejandro was advising Santa Ana to lay low and wait. Don Miguel assured me that, if we took the hacienda and Alejandro was put out of commission, he would take his place at Santa Ana's side. He said he would advise him to strike immediately – before Mexico was prepared."

For a moment the Indian was silent. Then he asked, his tone quietly accusatory. "And did he? Did he do as he promised? Or like Walton, was Miguel in it for money and power."

Sweat streamed down his face and onto his neck. "Shut up!" he ordered. "You're lying! Forest wasn't like that. He was my friend. He wouldn't have – "

Many Marks spread his hands wide. "I am an old man. I die soon. There is no profit in a lie."

Catterson struck out, taking the native by the throat, thinking how _easy_ it would be to just snap the old man's bones and silence his voice.

Silence the voice of truth.

Had he really been so naive?

"It doesn't matter," he said at last. "It was your escape, and Jenkins' testimony that caused me to lose my commission. The army was my life."

Many Marks looked him squarely in the eye. "Your life, maybe. But not your heart. You have no honor, Captain Catterson."

"And you," the redhead snarled as he pressed the barrel of Joe Cartwright's gun into the old man's ribs, his eyes wild and wide, "have no life."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The sound of a single gunshot echoed through the underground passageway and worked its way into Joe Cartwright's consciousness. He roused himself enough to note the familiar sound, but not enough to guess its meaning. A second later the blond man who supported him on his left side snorted.

"Well, he did it," he sighed, sounding as if he did not approve of whatever 'it' was.

The other man who held him – a big, brute of a man whose rough touch had sent him into unconsciousness more than once since their journey had begun – grunted. "The old man got what he deserved."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Joe felt the blond adjust his grip so he held him more tightly. "I told Pres we needed him alive. Who's gonna look after _this_ one and make sure he doesn't die before his old man comes for him?"

Old man? They meant his...pa.

"Pa?" Joe whispered, all of the hope and longing of a boy's heart making the word sing. "Pa..."

"He's sure out of his head," the ugly man scoffed. "Maybe we should just take it off for him and put him out of his misery."

"You know what Garland said. We gotta keep him alive until old man Cartwright shows up with Jenkins."

"So Catterson take the Scot and salve his conscience with a mock trial and execution." The big man snorted. "I ain't interested in that. I say, when Cartwright comes, that we put old Catterson out of his misery and tell the old man that if he doesn't bring us every cent he can get his hands on, then the only thing he's gonna take home with him is a corpse."

The blond man halted. "You mean betray Pres?"

"Why not? What's he ever done but order us around like we're still in the army?" The man's fingers bit into his flesh. "It's _his_ vendetta, not mine." There was a pause, and then he asked, "Well? Are you with me, Lane?"

The short stocky blond was silent for a heartbeat. "I'll let you know by the time we break the surface,' he said, and then they began to move again.

As he stumbled along with them a single thought formed in Joe Cartwright's mind. Adam was safe. Somehow Adam was safe, but now his pa was in danger.

He _had_ to save his pa.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Adam Cartwright emerged sweat-soaked and filthy from the bowels of the earth, near the tower where his brother had fallen and Mace Prescott had died, Hoss and Gil Jenkins' remaining girls sat down in the ranch house to eat the lunch Hop Sing had prepared, not one of them with an appetite. Worried, Hoss let out a deep sigh as the Chinese man chided him for not eating, while far away from the homely table with its ominous empty seats, the big man's beloved Little Joe was dumped unceremoniously on the ground in the makeshift camp and a gun placed against his head. This happened even as Joe's father and Gil Jenkins began the last leg of their journey, and Prescott Catterson, leaving a portion of his shame and the body of the old shaman behind, began to climb toward his final hour, sure that justice at last would be done but little knowing that his own men were planning his demise.

Which left only one player unaccounted for.

Ainslee Jenkins reined in her mount and studied the landscape before her. She knew where her father and Ben Cartwright were headed. She had seen Roy Coffee leaving the yard just as she emerged from the ranch house and had followed him at a safe distance ever since. They were all headed for that rocky tower where it had all begun – the one that had taken on the garment of nightmare, turning, with the day's events, from a pile of plain rock into a hard unrelenting omen pointing toward disaster. The blonde woman had recalled, from her talks with both Adam and Hoss, that there were many paths through this hilly part of the Ponderosa. The night before, as she had formulated her plans, she had sought and found a map of the area in Ben Cartwright's office, certain that – in the end – it would come to this. If she turned east, the land relented. There were flat places where a horse with an experienced rider could find footing and move fast. That was where she was headed. She had to arrive at the rendezvous before Sheriff Coffee, before Ben Cartwright – before her Da.

She had to talk to Catt. She was the only one who could.

She was the _only_ one he might listen to.

FIFTEEN

Adam stumbled for the tenth time, only this time – instead of catching himself – fell face forward into the dirt. He lay there, breathing hard, telling himself he _had_ to get up, had to get going – had to get _home._ The rock tower lay a good half hour behind him, even though all of its unpleasant memories were with him still – the death of Mace Prescott, his brother's fall, the subsequent chase and Joe's being wounded and last of all, Prescott Catterson's face as he saw it in the vision – driven, determined.

Hell-bent.

The man in black righted himself and sat on the ground, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He hadn't had anything to eat since shortly after Joe fell – and not much for a day before that. Hunger, coupled with a lack of sleep, was taking its toll. It was a long way back to the Ponderosa. He was hoping a stray ranch hand with a horse, or maybe someone coming to the lake could provide him with transportation. He'd thought of doubling back and trying to free Joe himself, but had decided against it due to all of the above. He wasn't thinking clearly. It would be easy to make a mistake.

One mistake and his brother was dead.

As he sat there, gathering strength for the next leg of his journey, a familiar sound caught his attention and turned his face upward. At first he didn't see it – the sky was filled with thick gray clouds – but then he heard it. A snort, followed by hissing and a click. A second later he was struck by a rush of wind and a great black shape swooped low overhead. Adam smelled the Thunderbird's dragon breath even as its keen eyes opened and something like sheet lightning lit the sky. If Many Marks was right, the bird's appearance heralded an approaching storm.

Great. Just...great.

Adam climbed to his feet and approached the rocky perch the bird had landed on. It was some twenty-odd feet above his head. Never before had the creature remained where it could be seen. It was almost as if it lacked direction, or maybe, whatever had directed it before was no more.

It made him wonder if Many Marks was dead.

"Well, fellow," the man in black said, gazing up, "looks like both of us are in need of some help."

The bird, and for all of its great size, bird it _was_ , tilted its head and eyed him. It opened its massive beak and clicked again and then spread its wings wide. Their span was nearly that of the porch at the ranch house. He guessed it must be thirteen or fourteen feet. From head to toe, measured against the wing span, Many Marks' Thunderbird appeared to be about five feet high and that included its scavenger's head and reptilian feet.

Looking at it, exposed as it was by the daylight, Adam knew at last what it was. He'd seen one on his trip to Sacramento a year or so back. It had fallen to earth and lay dead in the desert, its skeletal remains looking like something out of an archaeologist's note book. Maybe this was what those publicity hounds had seen in California.

A giant condor.

Adam snorted. He sighed and shook his head. Whatever was in the potion Many Marks had given him had transformed the bird into the reality of myth – into one of the legendary Thunderbirds the old man believed in. They'd probably hooked up somewhere along the way, the shaman and the bird, and the Indian had come to believe this living creature was the spirit guide sent to him by Mise Manito.

Adam was a little disappointed.

"So, you're real after all. Too bad I can't climb on your back and _fly_ to the Ponderosa."

The bird shifted in response, as if it wanted to comply. Then it hissed again.

There was something different about the sound this time. It was pensive, almost as if the bird was saying goodbye. Adam stepped back so he could see better. As he did, the bird faltered. It shifted its grip on the rocks, seeking a better hold, opened one wing for balance – and then toppled in one great black mass to the ground.

It took a second – a second to make reality gel with legend – and then he was on his way to its side. Kneeling beside the bird's massive form Adam probed its feathers with his fingers. When they hit a large patch that was wet and sticky, he pulled his hand back and looked.

They were coated with blood.

Probing further, under the feathers, Adam found a bullet hole.

"So they got you too," he sighed even as the bird clicked and let out a long low hiss that served as its death rattle. "Rest," he soothed as he stroked the bird's silken feathers. "Rest. Your journey's done."

"Well, I ain't never seen the like!" a familiar, if unexpected voice exclaimed.

Adam closed his eyes as relief flooded through him. "Roy Coffee," he breathed as he rose to his feet and turned toward the sheriff, "may I said, 'a sight for sore eyes' does not _begin_ to describe it!"

"The sight of you is _makin_ ' these old eyes sore, boy. What happened to you?" Roy looked around. "Where's Little Joe?"

Adam waved the question away intent, for the moment, on other things. "Is my father with you?"

The sheriff shook his head. He nodded in the direction of that damn stone tower. "He and Gil are ahead of me. You shoulda passed them."

"I came from underground." Again, he held up a hand. "I'll explain later. What is Pa doing?" He thought a moment. "He's _not_ going to meet with Catterson?"

Roy nodded. "The man said he had you _and_ Joe. Even though Gil's youngest girl came back to tell us that was a lie, your Pa was sure he'd have you by now."

Adam scowled. "Well, he's _half_ right." The sound of what he had to say was sour on his tongue. "I'm sure he has Joe by now." At his look, he added, "Joe's hurt, Roy. Hurt bad. I had to leave him behind. It was a risk, but Catterson needs him to make Pa do what he wants. If Joe...dies...it will do that villain no good. I just hope – "

Roy approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. "A man does what he's got to do, Adam. Ain't no one goin' to condemn you for that."

His hazel eyes shot to the sheriff's face.

"No. No one but myself."

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Ainslee had seen a fire burning in the distance. She dismounted about a quarter mile from it and tethered her horse to a tree. Moving with stealth, she approached the campsite. There were two men patrolling its perimeter and two more in the camp itself. The pretty blonde watched the guards for several minutes, noting their pattern, and then moved in as they moved away. After that she concealed herself in a thicket of tall grasses and waited.

Waited for a sign of Catt.

Ainslee knew from the time they had spent together that Catt's soul was twisted with a need for revenge. He hadn't told her everything, but his need for it ate away at him, poisoning everything in his life – their love included. She was certain it was why he had run and why he had gone away without a word. He'd chosen to protect her instead of using her.

And that had to mean there was hope.

Inching forward, Ainslee positioned herself behind a boulder half-hidden by gorse to watch the camp, eager to spot the man she loved. While she didn't see him, she recognized one of Catt's friends whom she had met at the medical college. If she remembered right, his name was Garland Frank. Garland was behind the fire. He was kneeling on the ground and reaching out for something, or maybe _to_ someone. The blonde woman shifted so she had a clearer view. It was then she saw a man writhing on the ground. It took a moment, but she realized Garland was holding the man down. Even though she knew it was dangerous, Ainslee decided to move in so she could get a better look. Taking up a new position behind a brace of trees, she looked again and caught a glimpse of a head of curly brown hair.

It was Joe!

Mortified, she watched as Little Joe struggled against his captor, shouting and striking out with his hands. Garland held him tight, speaking to him, seeming more concerned than angry. Joe yelled again and then fell deathly quiet. The other man leaned forward, touched his forehead and felt for a pulse. Then he straightened up and stood. It was all she could do not to burst out of her place of concealment and run into the camp – she wanted _so_ much to make sure Little Joe was all right. But she didn't.

Captured she could do Joe – she could do _no_ one any good.

Still, she was worried. Ainslee shifted slightly to get a better look. As she did, a figure emerged from the trees to the right side of the camp and walked straight over to Joe. Gil Jenkins' eldest daughter drew in a sharp breath.

It was...him _._

It had been more than ten years since she had seen him, but there was no mistaking that upright figure, the military bearing, and most of all, that head of deep, rich auburn hair. Ainslee's hand reached out toward him, even as a tear slipped from her eye to trail the length of her cheek.

"Catt..."

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Prescott crouched beside the Cartwright boy. Taking his wrist in his hand, he felt for a pulse. It was there, if thin and thready. Rocking back on his heels, he lifted his hat and ran a hand through his auburn hair, shoving it out of his eyes. If he'd been a betting man he would have laid odds Adam's brother had passed. Fortunately, he hadn't. The kid was strong and he was hanging on. All the better.

He'd make a poor exchange dead.

"Pres, I don't know how long he's going to last," Garland said as he came to meet him.

"Did you give him that medicine we had?"

"From when Lane was shot last month? Yeah, but I don't know how effective it will be. I'm not a doctor. Could be its worthless."

" _Like_ some doctors," Prescott snarled. He glanced at the sun then. It was directly overhead. "If Ben Cartwright doesn't show soon, it won't matter."

"You aren't going to kill the kid outright, are you, Pres? He's done nothing."

"Oh, you're wrong. He's done _plenty._ He was born the son of a man who is a friend of traitors." Prescott toed the boy. "His life is forfeit to the greater good."

Garland hesitated, and then said, "Pres, you know I want justice, but sometimes..."

" 'Sometimes', what?"

"Sometimes it seems that it's just an excuse."

"What is?"

"Like you want Jenkins eliminated because his truth is not the same as yours."

"There _is_ only one truth," he replied, the words forced through gritted teeth. Then he asked, "What is this really about, Garland?"

Garland Frank shifted on his feet. "I've been with you a long time, Pres, and I admire you. But lately, the things you are willing to do..." He indicated Joe Cartwright's prone form with a nod. "I had hoped the other night when you let the girl go, that maybe this was over. That, maybe, you'd decided to let it go."

His hand was out before he knew it and he had Garland by the throat. "It will _never_ be over until one of us is dead – Jenkins or me!"

"Pres, you're hurting me," his friend protested. "Pres!"

He wasn't listening – not to Garland. He'd heard a horse whinny.

"They're here," Prescott Catterson said.

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Ben Cartwright dismounted and watched as his friend did the same. They'd spotted a campfire and assumed it was Prescott Catterson's. As he tethered his horse, Ben held on to the hope that everything the man had said back at the Ponderosa had been a bluff, that the madman didn't have Joe _or_ Adam, and that they would be free to act.

That hope was dashed when Catterson's voice rang out loud and clear. "Come out where I can see you, Mister Cartwright – you and Jenkins – and throw your guns on the ground. Do it now or your son dies!"

The silver-haired man looked at his friend and then moved forward, parting tall grasses as he went. He stopped at the edge of a small clearing, his breath and movement arrested by the scene that greeted him – Joe dangled from Catterson's arm and held a gun against his son's head. The boy was obviously sick. Joseph had that look – the one a man gets when he's battling a fever that is bound and determined to take him down. His son's hat was gone and his pants were a shambles, but worst of all, blood stained what was left of the fine gray shirt he had bought his youngest not that long ago.

"What have you done to him?" the older man growled as he stepped into the clearing.

Catterson worked the barrel of the pistol further into Joe's curly brown hair. "Your weapon, Mister Cartwright."

Ben halted. His hands were shaking with rage so it proved hard to unbuckle the belt. When he managed it, he dropped the weapon at his feet. "Now, will you let me have my son?"

"Not before I get what I want. Not until I get..." Catterson's voice trailed off as his expression changed from one of dogged determination to a strange sort of exultant joy.

"Let the boy go, Prescott," Gil Jenkins said as he came alongside him. "This is between you and me, and it's time we end it."

"Ever the _noble_ physician, eh, Jenkins?" Catterson snarled.

There was a man behind Catterson. He had remained silent until now. Stepping close to the redhead he said, his words gentle but firm, "He's right, Pres. Let Mister Cartwright have his son. You made a deal." He nodded toward Gil. "If you break it, what makes you any better than him?"

Prescott shook his head. "Not yet, Garland. You tie Cartwright up."

"No!" Gil objected.

"Shut up, and you," he waved the gun at Ben, "you keep quiet too! Once justice is done, I'll free you and the boy. Not before."

The silver-haired man ached to look after his son. "Joe needs a doctor!"

Catterson snorted and then broke into a gale of ominous laughter. The gun swung from Joe to Gil.

"Too bad this one just closed up shop."

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Ainslee stood by, horrified. She recognized the man before her, but she didn't know him. She wondered now if she had been wrong to come – if the Catt she knew had grown too old and too cold to listen to her. Still, she had to try. She had to –

A hand caught her arm and then another clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. Ainslee," came the terse whisper, "its Adam. If I let go, will you stay quiet?"

She nodded and within seconds was released.

"What are you doing here?" Ben Cartwright's oldest son demanded.

The blonde looked past him and saw Sheriff Coffee. The older man dipped his head, acknowledging that he saw her too. Ainslee did the same and then answered Adam. "I came to talk to Catt."

"Catt?"

The blonde nodded. "Catterson. I knew him long ago. We...we were going to be married. He broke it off, to protect me, I think – from this."

"Talking isn't the answer," Adam scolded.

"And what is? _More_ killing? Do you ride in, in a blaze of glory, with all barrels blasting?" She pointed toward the camp. "Your brother is in there, and my father _and_ your father! Do you want all of them killed?"

"Now there, Miss Jenkins, Adam is right," Sheriff Coffee said softly as he came alongside them. "Ain't nothin' but to take a man like him out."

Ainslee turned back to Adam. She gripped his hand and held it between her own. "Please, Adam, give me a chance – give _Catt_ a chance. You're different. I _know_ you understand." She paused, trying to think of the way to put it best. "Adam, if giving a man a chance to redeem himself isn't _justice_ , I don't know what is."

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Ben Cartwright knew the feeling well. He'd experienced it often enough over thirty years of rearing boys – headstrong, active, risk-taking boys who needed mended more often than a fence on a windswept range. It was that feeling of being out of control, of matters taken out of one's hand – the feeling that no matter how much you tried, not matter what you did, you simply _couldn't_ do enough. He felt it now, stronger than ever.

Joe lay on the ground beside him, just out of reach.

Catterson's man had bound his hands and placed a gun against his head even as the auburn-haired man released Joe and watched dispassionately as his son's limp form struck the ground. It was like watching snow fall. Joseph made no sound as he hit and lay there silent and unmoving. Catterson took hold of Gil then and slammed him into a rock wall, throwing him to the ground before binding his hands and feet. After that the redhead walked back to Joe and, catching him by what was left of his shirt, dragged him across the clearing and deposited him under a tree. Then he ordered Garland to do the same with him, but to leave enough space between them that he couldn't offer any aid.

If he could just touch Joe – even brush his arm or face with his fingers – then at least the boy would have some sense that he was here. That he was not alone.

That he wouldn't...die alone.

Joseph looked bad. His face was deathly pale, his skin hot and slick with sweat. Dirt clung to every part of him, but especially to the blood stains on his shirt, which meant most likely that it was also in the wound. Since they'd been placed there together, his son hadn't moved at all. From the dried blood on Joe's shirt and pants, it had been a while since the bullet had penetrated, and that meant that every minute that passed was one minute more infection had time to take root.

If he didn't get him to a doctor soon...

"Ben," a voice whispered near his ear. "Ben, don't look. It's me. Roy."

Relief flooded through him. Roy! He had forgotten about the sheriff following them. "Roy," he whispered fiercely, "you've got to help Joe!"

"I mean to, Ben. Just as soon as Adam makes his move."

"Adam's here?" The relief became painful, so deeply did he feel it. "Where is he?"

"Wait a second, Ben. Someone's coming."

It was torture, waiting for the sheriff's voice to return. It did about a minute later. "That was close. One of Catterson's men. He's moved on now."

"You said Adam is here?"

"He's with the Jenkins' girl. The oldest one."

"Ainslee?" Ben frowned. Could things be _more_ complicated? "What's she doing out here?"

"That girl's just plain loco, Ben. She wants to talk to Catterson. Thinks she can get him to change his mind."

"It's too dangerous." His eyes returned to Joe. "Catterson is a killer."

"That's what I tried to tell Adam. But he's a chip off the old block and dad-blasted stubborn as his old man." Roy paused. "That man's coming again, Ben. I'm going to take him out this time."

With that Roy, and his connection to hope, disappeared. Ben closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer. When he opened them, he looked at Joe again. His son was staring straight at him, his eyes fevered, his hand outstretched.

"Pa..."

"I'm here, Joe. I'm _here_."

Joe moaned. "I can't...see you, Pa."

"You're sick, son. Just lay quiet."

"No...can't. Want to...hurt you. I have to..." The boy stirred. A second later he attempted to rise. "Gotta save...pa."

"Joseph, this _is_ you pa. Lie still!" He was terrified Catterson or one of his men would hurt the boy if he stood up. "Listen to me. Obey me! _Joseph!"_

Joe was on his knees. "Have to...help...pa..."

Ben pulled on his restraints, but it did no good. He was trussed tight as a ornery steer. Panicking, he raised his voice, just loud enough that he hoped Roy and no one else could hear. "Roy! You have to stop Joe!'

There was no answer. Roy Coffee was gone.

Unfortunately, so was Joe.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He had to be out of his mind. Ainslee's last words echoed in his head. _'Adam, if giving a man a chance to redeem himself isn't justice, I don't know what is.'_

How could she know? She couldn't know.

Could she?

Following hard upon her words, were the words of the Thunderbird. _It is the Creator's design that we guard the gates of Heaven and make certain justice is had upon the earth below. You will bring justice. That will save your brother's life._

Justice. He had thought he was to bring it to someone – to find them and make them pay for past sins. Was it possible that the _justice_ the Thunderbird craved was, well, mercy instead?

Ainslee was standing there, looking at him, waiting for a decision. This woman who loved a man bound and determined to drive her away. A man who threatened his family. A man who meant to kill his father's friend and her father.

"Adam?" she asked as another tear fell.

He glanced at Roy. To say the sheriff looked dubious was definitely an understatement.

"I can't let Catterson harm my family," he began.

"I'm not asking that. I'm asking that you to let me walk into that camp."

"Now, just you wait a minute, young lady," the sheriff cautioned. "We ain't givin' no more hostages to that outlaw."

Ainslee rounded on Roy. "He _has_ my father!. Catt doesn't need hostages anymore. Da has given up and given in." The blonde paused, gathering herself. "Besides, if I go, the first thing I mean to ask him is to release Ben and Joe."

Roy was shaking his head. "Adam, you talk some sense into her."

He pursed his lips. "I think Ainslee _is_ making sense, Roy. It can't hurt to try. If Catterson surrenders, then no one dies – not Joe, not Pa, and not Gilchrist Jenkins."

Roy pointed toward the camp. "You think that madman is going to listen to her? You're plain crazy, Adam."

He looked at Ainslee. "Love has a way of working miracles, Roy. Maybe this is one of those times."

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Ben struggled against his bonds. In his delirium, Joe had stumbled out of the camp looking for him even though he had been laying right beside him. Catterson's men were patrolling the area. One of them could easily shoot the boy either by accident or on purpose for trying to escape. His only hope was that Roy was out there somewhere and he would find Joe first. Roy, or Adam.

Where _was_ his eldest son?

The older man looked toward the fire. Prescott Catterson paced before it. Gil lay behind it on the ground, unconscious or dead, he didn't know which. The other man, Garland, was pacing as well near the edge of the camp, looking for all the world as if he would bolt at any minute. Maybe he'd realized that Catterson was unstable. If so, there might be a hope in getting him to change sides. Dragging his body back, Ben shifted so he was leaning against the base of a tree. He felt around it with his fingers, looking for a sharp edge, and finally found one on a rock half-buried beside it. After checking to make certain no one was watching, the older man began to saw at the ropes that bound him. He stopped at the sound of a woman's voice.

Ainslee Jenkins was stepping out of the trees. Adam followed close behind her.

Joe had an excuse for his reckless behavior. He was fevered.

Adam must be plain mad.

Ben started to rise, but saw his son shake his head as he did. He knew Adam's every gesture. His eldest was asking him to trust him.

The older man sighed. Then he settled back and began to work on the ropes again. He trusted Adam, but only so far.

Things would be different when he was free.

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Prescott Catterson had been pacing, pacing and thinking. He wanted nothing more than to push his gun into Jenkins stomach and pull the trigger. But that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't...be enough. The Scot had escaped a hanging years before and nothing but a hanging would do. Jenkins was a traitor. He'd let that Indian go and testified against him, influencing his commanding officers, making them think that he had gone rogue in making the raid against the hacienda before war was officially declared. It wasn't true. It had been a well thought out choice to make a decisive blow. And it wasn't like they should be surprised. It had been done before. Andrew Jackson was a good example. Jackson moved into Florida though he'd been ordered not to, and his bold move had put an end to the war in 1812. An officer had to have the stones to call it like he saw it. Don Miguel was an influential man and the man had promised – he had _promised_ to use his influence to jumpstart the war in favor of the Americans. Due to Jenkins that never happened. Due to Jenkins he had lost his commission – his purpose in life. And Many Marks? The Indian had to have lied about Forest. He _had_ to have lied about Forest Walton betraying him and the men.

It couldn't be...true.

After all of these years, he couldn't be...wrong.

Prescott Catterson pressed his hands to his head and moaned.

"Catt?" a light voice called.

The auburn-haired man scowled. He was losing it. There weren't any women out here.

"Catt, it's me. Ainslee."

No...no... _no!_ Not _Ainslee_. He'd done everything he could to keep her out of this. Prescott opened his eyes and turned toward the voice. There she was, standing just outside the ring of firelight, flanked by Adam Cartwright.

Ainslee Jenkins. The woman he loved.

Prescott shook his head. It seemed he couldn't stop shaking it. "Ainslee, no. No! Go away!"

She took a step toward him. "I won't. Not until you hear me out."

"Aine, get out of here. I don't want you to be hurt –"

"I'm already hurt." He saw her jaw tighten. "That's my father lying on the ground behind you. My father, whom you intend to kill."

He glanced at the old man. After he had thrown him against the wall, his rage had exploded and he had beaten him until he lost consciousness. Turning back, he said, "He has to die."

"Why, Catt? To salve your conscience? I don't know what you did, but I do know that the treason, the betrayal that you blame my father for, was _yours._ No innocent man carries a burden of guilt like you have. No innocent man throws _everything_ away in the name of vengeance."

His head was pounding. "He has to die to...end it. I can't rest. I can't find peace with him alive."

"And when my father is dead, will you find it then?" Her words were sharp. "Or will you just keep on hating...hating yourself."

"Aine, you don't understand," he moaned.

"Oh, don't I? If you had really thought my father guilty, you would never have run from me. You would have used me to get to him and killed him all those years ago. But you didn't. Catt, love won over hate. Let it win now."

"I ran from you, because..." He stopped. Could he say it?

"Because you loved me."

Prescott Catterson drew in a sharp breath and nodded.

Ainslee left Adam Cartwright's side and approached him. He backed away as if she was a snake or some other dangerous thing. Because she was. Ainslee Jenkins was about as dangerous as it came. Dangerous to his hate. Dangerous to his vendetta.

Devastating to everything he had aimed his life toward for the last twenty-odd years.

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Adam watched Prescott Catterson as he backed away from Gil Jenkins' daughter. He had to give her credit. Ainslee had no fear for herself. He listened to the words she spoke and wondered if they would make any difference. The auburn-haired man seemed to be faltering. Maybe falling apart was a better description. The gun had fallen from his fingers and he was on his knees. Adam watched as Ainslee dropped beside him and gathered his quaking form in her arms.

He was about to go to them when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Adam! Son!"

He hadn't noticed his father. The older man was on the other side of the camp, leaning against a tree. With a last glance at the pair by the fire, Adam sprinted across the open space and knelt by him. As he turned him and reached for the ropes that bound his hands, he noticed the blood.

"Pa, you've hurt yourself."

"It's nothing," the older man snapped. "Forget me! Adam, you have to find Joe."

Good Lord! He'd been so caught up in what Ainslee was doing he hadn't given a thought to his brother for some time.

"Where is he, Pa?" he asked as he finished his hands.

"Joseph is out of his head." His father nodded toward the trees to his right. "He disappeared through there. He's looking for me, Adam."

"Joe's looking for you?"

"He thinks I'm in danger. Adam, you have to – "

The sounds of a scuffle drew their attention back to the fire. As Adam stood, Ainslee Jenkins screamed.

"Adam! Help!"

He looked and saw two men threatening her and Catterson. Close by them Garland Franks lay on the ground, the fabric of his shirt still smoking. One of the men was big and ugly; the other, short, stocky and blond. Catterson had placed himself between them and Ainslee.

"What is this about? Lane?" The redhead turned to the big man. "Burley?"

"We decided we've had it with you and your vendetta against Jenkins," Burley replied. "Who cares what happened more than twenty years ago?"

"You did, once," Catterson said, sounding confused. "Or at least, I thought you did."

"You _paid_ us to care," Burley said. "It ain't enough anymore. You got an opportunity here to strike it big and ain't man enough to take it."

"An opportunity?"

 _Here it came_ , Adam thought. They had to mean Joe. They meant to use Joe to get money out of Pa.

"Adam, run. Run now!" his father shouted.

"Pa, no. What if..."

"That's an order, Adam!"

As his father's terse whisper sounded in his ears, Burley shouted. The words were unintelligible. Adam turned toward him just as the big man fell to his knees while clutching his side.

"Get him, Lane! Don't let him escape!" he gasped.

Adam thought the outlaw meant him, but then he realized Prescott Catterson and Ainslee were gone. Catterson must have had a weapon on him – he could see blood dripping through Burley's fingers. Maybe a knife. He must have used it and run.

He glanced at his father. The older man's smile was grim, but it was there. "Find your brother, Adam," he pleaded. "Bring Joe home."

The man in black took a long look at his father, knowing it could prove the last look he would ever get, and then he dove into the underbrush even as a bullet struck the grass in the spot where his feet had been a second before.


	6. Part Six

SIXTEEN

Roy Coffee stopped to wipe sweat from his eyes and then looked down at his foot where it rested on the trussed hide of the last outlaw he'd roped. That made three of them.

He'd meant to go back to Ben as quickly as he could. It stuck in his craw that his old friend was in danger and that Little Joe was in need of aid. But it seemed to him that eliminating the men who could help Catterson was about as important as anything else. He didn't think there were any more. Leastways he hadn't seen or heard anyone else and he'd made a circuit of Catterson's camp at least five times.

Now that it was done he could head back and take out the others.

As he moved through the underbrush Roy shook his head. In all his years as a lawman he 'd never met anyone like the Cartwrights. They were the most determined, high-minded bunch of fellers he had ever known. Always the first to volunteer for a posse, but the first to argue against taking a man if it seemed there were any kind of 'extenuating circumstances' as the fancy lawyers in Carson City liked to say. There weren't no one fiercer when it came to protecting their own either. That Ben Cartwright was like a mother grizzly with her cubs. All of it had put them at loggerheads more times that he could count, and yet he wouldn't have chosen to have any other four men at his side when it mattered.

Kneeling, Roy checked the ropes on his captive's hands and then the man's gag, making sure it was secure. Then he rose to his feet, got his bearings, and headed back to the outlaw's camp, gun drawn.

It was time he saved his friends.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam crouched in a stand of tall grasses, listening. While he didn't hear anyone in pursuit, he knew that didn't mean there was no one after him. Depending on how badly he was hurt, Burley could be on his feet and on his way. And then there was the short stocky blond man who must have run when the other man was wounded. There could be others as well – probably were – men who were loyal to Catterson who scouted the woods or maybe, had gone back to town. The man in black closed his eyes for a moment, gathering strength. He had to prioritize. The most important thing at the moment was Joe. His baby brother was out here somewhere. He was sick and out of his head. He had to find Joe and find him _quick_ before any of Catterson's men did.

His jaw set and his path determined, Adam rose up, ready to move deeper into the woods. Before he could, something happened. Something completely unexpected. A great dark shadow loomed overhead, followed by a click and low, long hiss.

Astonished, he stopped and looked up. It couldn't be. He'd left the condor's corpse back the way he had come. There was no way it could be here. _No_ way.

Unless...

"No," Adam breathed.

 _*Yes, Adam Cartwright. Yes*._

The voice was familiar. He couldn't see the man, but then the darkness cast by the bulk of the great bird still eclipsed the light.

"Many Marks?"

A man emerged from the shadows. It wasn't Many Marks. It couldn't be. The native was young – maybe thirty at most. He was dressed as the shaman in his vision had been, to resemble a Thunderbird, but it wasn't the same man.

"Sorry, no," he began again. "Who are you? What do you want?"

 _*Your task is not completed.*_

Adam blinked. "What?"

 _*Justice is not done.*_

He scowled. "Look, I'm out here looking for my brother, I don't have time to – "

 _*To save your brother, you must bring justice. Even now he is in danger.*_

Adam moved forward. "If you know where Joe is, tell me!"

The shaman's dark eyes met his.

 _*He is in the hands of Burley Culpepper.*_

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright righted himself and looked back into the camp. He had followed Adam into the underbrush, diving for cover even as his son took off into the trees. What he saw was two men – the stocky blond one named Lane and Garland Frank. Frank was on his feet, though he was pale and shaking. There was blood on his left shoulder and it looked like he had been shot. The two of them were arguing.

It was no surprise. There was no more honor among outlaws than thieves.

Ben pursed his lips and drew a breath. He had no weapon, but that didn't mean he was unarmed – he had his mind and his hands and many times before that had proven more than enough. If he wanted to go after Adam and Joe, then he had to eliminate the threat of these two. Who knew how many more of Catterson's men were in the woods? Also, there was that man, Burley.

He was a born killer if he'd ever seen one.

Ben's dark eyes returned to the pair near the fire. So intent were they on each other that they paid no attention to him. He rose up from his place of concealment, ready to take them on. A hand on his arm stopped him from advancing further.

"Roy!" he exclaimed softly when he saw the lawman.

"Nobody else," his old friend said as he moved in beside him. With a nod of his head toward the fire, he asked, "Ben , you tryin' to do my job?"

"I imagined you were otherwise occupied," he replied, his jaw tight.

"You got that right. Took out three of Catterson's men. Left 'em trussed up in the woods."

"Did you see Adam or Joe?" the silver-haired man asked, hopeful.

Roy shook his head. "Sorry, Ben. Not hide nor hair."

"All right." He nodded toward the men in front of them. "We need to take them out too."

"I don't see you holding no weapon, Ben. Or wearin' a badge."

He conceded that. "You _could_ deputize me."

Roy's eyes held understanding, but his words were unbending. "I ain't puttin' the might and right of the law in the hands of a man who has two sons missin'. That's a recipe for disaster, Ben, and you know it." The sheriff shifted forward. "Now, why don't you wait here? This will only take a minute."

Before he could say anything else, Roy rose to his feet and stepped out of the trees. The lawman lifted his gun and fired it, and then waited as the two men pivoted toward him.

"If I was you, fellers, I'd put those weapons you're holding down, nice and easy, and get them hands in the air."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam headed in the direction Ainslee and Prescott Catterson had taken. If Burley Culpepper had Joe, he had to hope he wanted the auburn-haired man as well. Culpepper had made it clear that he intended to use Joe to extort their father. Catterson might get in his way. Of course, he only had the word of an Indian mystic that the big ugly man had his brother. Still... Adam glanced at the sky as he moved. Strange things were happening. While he hadn't seen the giant bird that had been Many Marks' companion, the sight and sound and smell of it had been unmistakable.

"And impossible," he muttered.

He'd seen the bird die. It _couldn't_ have been the condor back there. And yet something _had_ passed overhead, smelling of sulfur, snorting like a mare and hissing like a snake. Adam closed his eyes. "It can't have been a Thunderbird," he told himself. "You're just tired. You're seeing things."

He _had_ to be seeing things.

His world was a rational one. One maneuvered through it using common sense and empirical data. Observe, record, conclude. He'd seen the bird die, therefore, the bird could not be alive. Therefore it was something else that had flown overhead. In spite of the visionary walk Many Marks' potion had taken him on, there were no such things as Thunderbirds – and no such thing as a shaman who _became_ a Thunderbird and spoke to lesser mortals giving them a task they had to fulfill.

Of course, if he really believed that, what was he doing going after Burley Culpepper when he had no proof the man had Joe?

Adam hesitated, noting as he did that the wind was rising. Looking up he noticed thunderclouds rolling in. It seemed a sudden storm was upon them.

Why was he _not_ surprised?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright stumbled and nearly fell.

"Damn runt!" Burley Culpepper cursed even as Joe felt the barrel of the outlaw's gun press between his ribs, urging him forward. "The next time you stop it will be the last time," the brute promised. "I don't care how much money your old man will pay for you. It ain't worth the trouble!"

As he righted himself, Joe glanced at the man who had chased him to the ground and then drug him several hundred yards before lifting him to his feet and ordering him to walk. Burley was a big man. He could easily have carried him and made better time.

That was, if the outlaw hadn't been wounded.

Blood stained the left side of the big man's brown shirt. Joe snorted. It didn't seem to have affected the villain too much – he was still mean as a rattlesnake and strong as an ox – but it _was_ slowing him down. Every so often Culpepper would stop to draw a breath and to gather strength, and then he would push harder and threaten even louder like he was doing now.

If he hadn't been so weak himself, he probably could have escaped. As it was Joe doubted he could win an arm wrestling match against a four year old girl. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. He had no idea where Culpepper was taking him. He hoped his pa was there, and his brother, waiting for him.

He wanted to go home.

Joe stumbled again but caught himself before Burley grew mad and cuffed him. He continued on even as a bolt of lightning lit the sky and a steady rain began to fall. His head was a muddle. He had flashes of memory, but was unsure which were real and which had been caused by the fever that even now was raging in him. Joe thought he had been with Adam. But then, he remembered an Indian too, as well as a big black bird that had wrapped him in its massive wings.

No, that was crazy. _That_ had to be from the fever.

So was Adam too?

Then there was his pa. He was sure he had heard the older man call his name, not that long ago. He'd been searching for him, looking, paying no heed to anything else when Burley had stepped out of the woods and swung at him, striking him across the temple with his gun, bringing a blessed unconsciousness that lasted only long enough to make him feel worse.

He was tired. So tired.

So tired he just wanted to give up.

But Burley wouldn't let him. Burley was taking him to his pa. Joe blinked and glanced again at the big man. Was he a friend?

No. He didn't think so.

Burley wanted to hurt his pa. That's why he had run. To save his pa.

"Pa..."

The gun intruded further into his ribcage.

"Your pa can't help you, _Little_ Joe. I'm all you got. Keep walking."

"Where are you taking me?" he dared to ask.

The big man snorted. "Somewhere you'll be _safe_."

It was then Joe realized that they were walking down a deep ravine, headed for the caves by the lake. He'd been here before. This man was going to take him into one of them and leave him there and then go and get his pa and demand that he pay to get him back – and then kill him anyway and leave him to rot there alone.

Joe pivoted to look at the man with the gun.

"No," he said, planting his feet and sealing his fate. "No. I won't go."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam moved with stealth through the underbrush, seeking his brother. He had no idea where to look, so he looked everywhere. Staying within a few hundred feet radius of Catterson's camp, he moved out in an ever-widening circle, sure that he would find some sign or clue. The rain was falling steadily now. Soon it would erase what he was looking for. A moment before he had spotted the first hopeful sign – tiny tight heels dug deep into the mud.

They had to belong to Ainslee.

Which meant he was getting close to Catterson. Dare he hope that meant he was close as well to Joe?

A second bolt of lightning split the sky, lighting the area that lay before him. Adam stopped as it backlit a slender female figure standing in the pouring rain. Leaving the shelter of the trees behind, he approached the woman.

"Ainslee?"

Gil's daughter turned to look at him. "Help him, Adam," she said.

"Who? Joe? Is Joe here?"

She shook her head. "Catt. Catt needs...help."

He scowled. Prescott Catterson's obsession with her father was the reason both Joe and his father were in danger. It was hard to think of 'helping' him.

"Ainslee..."

"Oh, I know he's done wrong. You have to understand, Adam, Catt's not a bad man. He's made bad choices and he'll have to pay for them."

"I should say so – "

She approached him and laid a hand on his sleeve. Rainwater ran off her blonde hair, traveling past her eyes to run down her cheeks and soak the fabric of her dress. "Adam, I think he means to kill himself."

He looked around. "Where is he?"

She nodded. "In there."

"Where?"

Ainslee indicated a distant point with a nod. "The river cave. The one the old Indian lived in."

He shouldn't have been surprised. It was where all of this had begun. Not the first, but Many Marks' second cave.

The cave where he had met the Thunderbird.

Adam gripped her hand. "You need to go back to the camp, Ainslee. With any luck Roy Coffee has found Pa and freed him. Your pa too." When she started to protest, he added, "If I am worried about you, I can't do anything for Catterson."

"I tried to talk to him," she sniffed, tears mingling with the rain. "Catt won't listen."

The man in black knew it was unlikely the man would listen to him either, but he was willing to give it a try. "Tell Pa when you see him, where I've gone, and that Burley Culpepper has Joe. I don't know why, but I think we'll find them together. Tell Pa to bring Roy. We have to find Joe before it's too late."

"All right." Ainslee began to walk away, but stopped and turned back. "Adam?"

He had started out. He stopped. "Yes?"

"When you find him, tell Catt that I still love him – and that I am willing to stand by him no matter what. Will you do that?"

He nodded, and then turned and disappeared into the mist that was rising and filling the ravine.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

About a quarter of an hour later Adam arrived at the cave. He hesitated for a moment outside the entrance, his inner eye reflecting the visions he had seen there, and then he plunged in calling Catterson's name. The man in black moved quickly through the lichen-lit passages and emerged some ten minutes later in the chamber where Many Marks had tended his brother. Prescott Catterson was standing by the low pallet Joe had laid on.

The auburn-haired man spoke as he entered. His voice was strong, but trembled with emotion. In his hand was a gun. At the moment, it was pointed at the floor. "I blamed the Indian, you know, for the death of my men. Thought he'd betrayed us." Catterson turned to look at him. "I ordered the men who survived to attack his village, to find him and bring him to justice no matter _what_ it took." The broken man turned and looked at him. "They killed every one of them, women, children – Many Marks' children. There was a little girl...and two boys."

"Red Leaf and Yellow Bear," Adam said.

Catterson frowned. "I never knew their names."

Adam moved forward a few steps. As Catterson shifted, lifting the gun slightly, he halted. "Their deaths are on your conscience."

The auburn-haired man nodded. "Yes. Along with the deaths of the men in my regiment." He turned and looked at him. "Adam, I thought Many Marks betrayed them. He didn't. _I_ did."

"No, it was Forest Walton – "

Catterson shook his head. "Forest may have betrayed me, but _I_ betrayed the men. I thought, if I made a bold move, that it would drive the country into war. The politicians were dithering, talking about letting the Mexicans get away with their land grab. I talked to Forest and he went along with me. We made a...deal with Don Miguel. He'd lead us to the hacienda where we would take out Don Alejandro and then, when he took Alejandro's place, he would use his influence to compel Santa Ana to make a rash move and we'd be ready – we'd take them down quickly and easily and it would be over.

"But Don Miguel betrayed you."

He nodded. "So did Forest. Don Miguel had offered payment. I turned him down." Catterson raised the gun and looked at it. "I guess the idea of the money was too much for him. Walton didn't care about the war, or honor, or the country. He only cared about himself."

Adam hesitated. "That sounds a bit like the pot calling the kettle black."

"I deserve that," the auburn-haired man said.

"Except there _is_ someone you care about more than yourself," Adam said, moving, his eyes on the gun. "Ainslee Jenkins."

He closed his eyes. The pain was evident in his face. "God...Ainslee..."

"She wants you to live. You know that, don't you? She wants to be with you still, in spite of what you have done."

Catterson raised the weapon to his temple. "No. I can't do that to her."

"But you _can_ blow your brains out and leave her with that image burnt into her mind."

The other man swung toward him. "God! You wouldn't bring her here?"

"Try me." Adam took another step. "Look, Catterson, you've lived a selfish life and you've made a mess of things, but that doesn't mean you can't make amends. Which would Ainslee respect more, a man who went to prison and paid his debt to society, or one who took the coward's way out? Choose _life_ , man, not death!"

The gun's barrel wavered. "I don't...know that I can."

"You _can_ because you have the one thing that can make a man overcome anything."

Prescott Catterson frowned. "And what is that?"

"The love of a good woman."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Pain exploded as his body hit a hard cold surface. Joe swam up from wherever he had been and opened his eyes. The entry to a cave yawned before him. Behind him was the great dark figure of a man. The rain was pounding down so hard, grains of sand leapt up in response. Above them the sky lit with another lightning bolt. Seconds later thunder rumbled in response. It took a moment, but Joe remembered. When he had refused to move, Burley had struck out with his fist and driven him into blackness. The man looming above him now was breathing hard. Apparently he had carried him in the end and, with his wound, it had almost proven too much for the outlaw.

Burley reached down and caught his arm and hauled him to his feet. "Get moving!" he ordered.

Joe looked at the big man. He was pale and sweating hard. Of course, _he_ was too.

So that made things equal.

Haltingly, he began to move forward. Burley followed close on his heels. Joe pretended to stumble – well, _half-_ pretended – and then he dropped and rolled, knocking the big man off of his feet. Culpepper's gun flew out of his hand and discharged as it hit the ground. The bullet ricocheted from one wall to the other, sounding like a clarion call. Joe remained where he was, laying on the floor, breathing hard – for about ten seconds. On the eleventh Burley Culpepper bellowed like a bull.

"Cartwright! You are _dead!"_

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam caught hold of Prescott Catterson's arm and removed the gun from his hand. Still holding onto him, he propelled the nearly catatonic man up and out of the chamber, hustling him along the passageway. He was going to take him back to the camp. He didn't know what else to do. If God was with him, he would run into Joe and Culpepper on the way or maybe Roy and his pa. They were three-quarters of the way back to the surface when he had heard a sound that caused him to stop. It sounded like the ricochet of a bullet on stone. Then he heard the name 'Cartwright'. _That_ was followed by a bestial roar of anger that set his teeth on edge. Adam wasn't sure who was on the receiving end of that rage – Joe or his Pa and Roy – but he was willing to bet it was one, or maybe all of them.

"Catterson, come on!" he said. When the other man didn't move, he whirled toward him. "Didn't you hear me?"

The redhead's voice was defeated. "You don't want me with you. I destroy everything I touch."

As Adam stared at him, all of the frustration, fear and fury he felt boiled over. In one swift movement he took Catterson by the collar and hauled him up so he had to look into his eyes. "Look, that's my brother or father in danger out there. I need you help!"

"I can't help anyone..."

Disgusted, Adam released him. "No," he spat. "No, I guess you can't. And that's because, in spite of everything that has happened – in spite of the fact that a wonderful woman is willing to stand by you – you _still_ can't think about anyone but yourself! Go ahead then. Wallow in your self-pity! Crawl back into the cave and pick up that gun and put it in your mouth and end it all! You'll be doing the world a favor!"

With that, Adam turned and ran for the mouth of the cave.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Ben!"

The older man stopped what he was doing and looked over to see what had excited Roy Coffee. They'd tended the outlaws wounds and he was binding their hands and feet. They'd decided it was best to secure the men before starting out to look for Joe and Adam, though it had taken everything that was in him to do make that choice. _'Adam will find and take care of Joe'_ , he told himself. His oldest was no longer a boy. Adam was every bit a man and he had to remember that.

Still, even _men_ died.

Roy had just returned from scouting the surrounding area. Gil was with him. After Roy had taken Garland and Lane into custody, Ben had crossed to where the Scotsman lay and found him coming to. His old friend had taken a bad beating, but otherwise, seemed to be all right. Once he was on his feet, Gil insisted on accompanying the lawman to see if he could locate his daughter. They'd returned a short time before empty-handed.

Ben rose to his feet. Gil was standing beside Roy, a look of cautious joy spreading across his face. The silver-haired man turned to look and saw the reason why.

Looking bedraggled as a cat dragged through a mud puddle, Ainslee Jenkins had appeared at the edge of the camp.

"Da...," she said, holding out a hand.

Gil moved fast enough. He caught her before she hit the ground.

Ben moved quickly to kneel beside them. He hated to press her, but he had to know. "Ainslee, my sons. Did you see my sons?"

The young woman blinked and drew a shuddering breath. "Adam ...Adam is with Catt in Many Marks' cave down by the lake. I don't...know about Joe." Ainslee paused, as if she didn't want to go on. "Adam thinks Burley has Joe."

"Good God!" He shot to his feet. "Roy, we have to go after them!"

"Now take it easy, Ben – "

"Take it easy. _Take it easy?"_ His hand shot out, pointing into the dark storm-tossed night. "In Joe's condition, Burley could easily snap him in two!"

"Remember, Ben," Gil said, looking up from where he sat on the ground holding his daughter, "Burley is wounded too."

That did give him a little hope. But Joe had been so sick...

"Take a deep breath, Ben, and calm yourself down or you ain't going with me, you hear?" Roy said firmly. "You'll only put those boys in more danger if you go off half-cocked."

He stood there, breathing hard, attempting to do just that. "All right, Roy," Ben nodded. "I'm calm. Now let's go!"

The sheriff's expression told him he knew a load of bull when he smelled one. Still, all he said was, "All right, Ben. You got your gun?"

He nodded again.

"Then let's go."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam threw caution to the wind and burst out of the cave into the wet windy night calling his brother's name. "Joe! Joe! Can you hear me! If you can, answer me. _Joe!"_

The reply came. Some distance away. He couldn't tell how far since the wind carried it. "Adam! Adam...help!"

"Joe! Where are you?"

"Over here. Adam! Over..."

"Joe?"

Nothing.

Frantic, the man in black headed in the direction Joe's shouts had come from, pressing into the wind and ignoring as best he could the pounding rain. Overhead, lightning flashed. A second later the thunder answered, booming beneath his feet and rolling over the land.

He tried again. "Joe?"

This time he heard a strangled cry, like someone had tried to answer but been silenced before they could. A second later, a man spoke.

It wasn't Joe.

"Cartwright! I've got your brother. You do what I say or I'll snap his neck."

Adam looked around frantically. He couldn't find them. "What is it you want, Burley?"

"Five thousand dollars and your guarantee that I ride out of here a free man."

The rain was running into his eyes. Adam blinked it back. "I can get you a horse. I don't have any money on me."

"Then go get it."

Adam thought furiously. Joe had to be on his last leg. It would take at least half a day for him to go to town, convince the bank to give him the cash, and make it back. It was likely his brother wouldn't last that long, not in this weather.

"How about this?" he suggested. "You let Joe go and take me. If he dies, he'll be no good to you. Pa won't pay for a corpse."

When no reply came, he felt a spark of hope. Burley was considering it.

"Burley?"

"Yeah..."

"How about it?"

Several seconds passed and then Adam noticed movement at the edge of his vision. Burley Culpepper stepped out of the dark. Joe's unconscious form was pressed tightly against his.

The big ugly man pointed his gun at him. "I have your guarantee, Cartwright, that you won't try anything?"

Adam thrust his hands forward. "You can tie me up. Just let Joe go."

There was a pause. Burley's grip tightened on Joe, his fingers moving toward his throat. "He made me awful mad."

No. Adam thought. _Don't_ consider it.

"How about I kill him first and then take you prisoner?"

His words were quiet and fierce. "If you hurt Joe, I will pursue you to the ends of the earth, Burley. That's a promise."

"Not if you're dead too." The big man paused. "You know, I'm thinking it ain't worth it. I ain't ever gonna see that money. Why don't you come over here, Cartwright, and take your brother?"

Adam's jaw tightened. What was this? What was the outlaw thinking?

Still, if it meant he could go to Joe...

"All right."

"Drop your gun first."

He did as he was told, unbuckling his gun belt and letting it and the weapon fall to the ground. As he did, Burley moved into a beam of moonlight. Adam sucked in air when he saw how truly pitiful his brother was.

"Joe..."

"You want him. You take him!" With that, Burley thrust Joe forward. Adam dove for him, catching his limp form just as it reached the ground. From that position he looked up to find Burley Culpepper had stepped over to them and had his weapon pointed at his head.

The outlaw's lips curled in a sneer. "Night, night, Cartwright."

At that instant, two things happened. There was a rush of wind, as if something large had passed above them, and twin pinpoints of light opened in the darkness just above Burley's head. Adam gasped, certain now that he had been wrong and that it was the Thunderbird come to protect its own. Then he heard the crack of two shots. Burley Culpepper jerked, frowned, and fell to the ground.

A second later Prescott Catterson stepped out of the rising mist, a smoking gun in his hand.

"You were right, Cartwright. It was time I thought about someone other than myself."

SEVENTEEN

As the party was ending Ben crossed over to his youngest boy. Joe sat in the big blue chair by the fire watching the festivities, but not entering in. His youngest was healing slowly. By the time they had found him and Adam, Joseph had been close to death. While Roy Coffee took Prescott Catterson into custody, Adam mounted Roy's horse and rode like the wind to Virginia City to fetch the doctor. After seeing his son off, he had checked on Joe and then, leaving Ainslee in charge of his sick boy, gone with Gil to see to the wagon. They mended the wheel, returned with it, and then the four of them had followed more slowly with Joseph in its bed while Roy and his prisoner rode behind. His old friend didn't have his doctor's bag with him but, before they left, Gil had spent a few minutes gathering native plants from which he made a poultice for Joe's wound, and a few others that he brewed into a tea and forced his son to drink. The Scotsman told him as he applied the poultice that the ministrations of Many Marks – the Indian whom Catterson had killed – most likely saved Joe's life. The Scotsman explained, however, that his and the native's treatments were both temporary measures. Joe would need white man's medicine to combat the infection and reduce his fever, and he would need them soon.

The ride back to the Ponderosa was the longest he had ever made.

Hoss and the girls met them at the door, both relieved and concerned by what they found. Even though his leg was still weak, Hoss had insisted on helping to bear Joe to the settee. From there he and Gil had carried his son to his bed and the fight had begun.

Several days later Doc Martin caught him in the hall and told him Joe would live.

Ben ran a hand over his face. He'd slept better since then, but he hadn't slept well. Joe was weak. The Doc said his youngest could easily relapse. The older man looked at his brown-haired boy and sighed. He believed it. So far Joe had been docile and obedient and that just wasn't him.

He wondered when the fire would rekindle.

"How are you feeling, Joseph?" the older man asked as he took a seat on the hearth by his son's chair.

"I'm fine, Pa."

He placed a hand on his son's knee. "Is that the truth, or what you think I _want_ to hear?"

Joe hesitated, and then a shy smile appeared. "A little bit of both?" He shifted in his chair. "I'm just weak, Pa, that's all."

"I shouldn't have let you come down. Would you like me to help you back to bed?"

Joe shook his head. "Like Hoss said, I'm tired of looking at four walls." He nodded toward the whirling, dancing, laughing and giddy guests that filled their house. "Besides, I think it'd be a little hard to sleep with this lot having so much fun."

At that moment, Adam approached. He was carrying two glasses. Ben noted the liquid in them had a distinct color – which was not the one found in the unspiked punch bowl.

"I thought Joe might like something to drink."

His brother wasn't paying attention. Ben watched as Adam nudged him and Joes' eyes went to the punch cup. They lit up like a boy searching his stocking on Christmas and finding what he wanted. The doctor had said no liquor and Adam knew that. At least not for a while. Ben's eyebrows raised as his eyes met his oldest son's.

Adam shrugged. "Well, we can't have everyone celebrating _but_ Joe."

Joe looked up at him.

"Just this once," the older man agreed, giving in, "until the Doc says it's all right."

His youngest took the cup. "Thanks, Pa."

"Hey, Pa," Adam began. "I wanted Joe's opinion on that new foal. Do you think it would be all right for him to come out to the stable with me?"

It was an odd request. Both boys were in their Sunday best. "I...don't know..."

"Please, Pa," Joe added. "I am getting a little tired of all the noise and action here."

Thatalone told him he should probably _not_ let Joseph go. His eyes flicked to Adam. Something in his eldest son's face indicated whatever he had to say to his brother was important. With a sigh, the older man relented. "There's no flask in your back pocket with more 'punch' in it, is there, son?"

Adam grinned. "Unless Joe goes for the colt remedy, I think you're safe."

Ben laughed. It felt good.

"All right, but don't be long." He looked at Joe. "After that, it's bed, young man."

Joe was busy savoring a sip of the whiskey. He began to nod and then looked up with those green eyes. "Ah, Pa..."

"You heard me," the older man said as he turned away. "And be grateful you're not going there now."

"Yes, sir," Joe murmured as he rose.

Both he and Adam had to physically restrain themselves from offering a hand. Joe wobbled and then found his feet. With a reticent smile of thanks to both of them, he proceeded Adam out of the door.

Ben caught his oldest's arm. "Keep it brief, Adam. And nothing upsetting."

"We're just going to look at a foal, Pa."

"See to it that you do," he said as he released him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When he got to the stable, Adam found Joe standing by Cochise, stroking his horse's neck and talking softly to him. His brother had been out to visit once or twice during his recovery, but for the most part the animal had not seen him for nearly two weeks. When he heard him enter, Joe gave the Paint a treat and then turned to face him.

"What'd you want to talk about, Adam?"

"You don't think I brought you out here to see the foal?"

Joe shrugged. "I figured there was something else. Oh, thanks by the way for getting me out of the house."

The tips of Adam's mouth turned up in a tight smile. "So you noticed Fiona staring at you?"

His brother sighed. "You know, Adam, I like her, and she's right pretty..."

"But, no sparks?"

Joe nodded.

Adam glanced back at the house. "Unlike middle brother. There's nothing there _but_ sparks."

Joe laughed. "That Hoss, if he's got Deidre on his arm, he's happy as a flea in a doghouse."

The man in black sobered. "After tonight, he'll be sad as a dog in a house of fleas."

This was the Jenkins last night at the Ponderosa. Gil and his three daughters were taking the morning stage and heading back to Philadelphia. The party was to wish them farewell.

His brother's brown brows peaked. "Just means more food for us."

As he nodded, Adam considered his little brother. There were times when Joe drove him mad, and other times when he simply _made_ him mad, but there were still _other_ times – like this – that were pure magic.

Thank God Joe had survived the bullet wound and the infection it brought.

"How are you feeling, Joe?" At his look he added, "That's a brother asking and not your pa."

He scowled. "In other words, you want the honest truth."

"Uh-huh."

Joe blew out a breath. He hesitated and then said, "I feel like I need to sit down."

Adam felt like an idiot. "Here," he said, grabbing a hay bale and towing it over. After Joe was seated on it, he asked, "Better?"

His brother nodded. "I just ain't got any strength, Adam. I sure hope it comes back."

"It will," he said, taking a seat on an opposing bale. "Give it time."

Joe nodded and fell silent.

They sat for about a minute and then Adam asked, broaching the subject he had brought Joe out to talk about. "So, what did you see in Many Marks' cave that last night?"

His brother glanced at him, but quickly looked away. "Nothing."

"The truth, Joe."

The brown-haired man shrugged.

"All right, let me tell you what _I_ saw. An Indian, wearing a feather cloak, dressed like a Thunderbird, and," he paused, "and the Thunderbird itself."

Joe looked directly at him. " _You_ saw the Thunderbird?"

Adam nodded. "I saw a _real_ bird, Joe, a _giant_ bird. It was perched on a high rocky ledge and then fell dead from a gunshot."

"How big was it?"

He spread his arms wide to encompass the area of the stable they were in. "It had wings big as this room and was just about as tall as you."

Joe's countenance brightened. "I saw it too! I thought I was crazy, or maybe it was just part of the fever."

He shook his head. "The bird, at least, was real."

"What about the man you saw?"

Adam hadn't told anyone about the risk he had taken in swallowing Many Marks' potion. He was still having flashbacks from it and still seeing the shamanic figure in the feather cloak and its companion with the keen shining eyes in his dreams. He wasn't really sure how to answer Joe, since he wasn't really sure the man _was_ real.

"I'm not certain," he answered honestly. "All I can tell you is that he told me Burley Culpepper had you and he was right."

Joe paled at the name. "He was a mean one."

"Burley was a bastard, Joe. No need to mince words." Adam paused. He needed something from Joe for his own sake. "Now, will you tell me what _you_ saw?"

His brother drew another breath and let it out slowly. Adam felt like a louse as it seemed even talking was wearing his brother out. "I was so out of my head, Adam, I'm not sure. There was this giant bird – about the size you said – and I thought it was going to eat me." His smile was chagrinned. "It...protected me instead. I woke up with its wing was over me, keeping me warm like a baby chick. Then I followed it to you." Joe shrugged. "Like I said, I was out of my head."

"No, Joe, I don't think you were."

Joe looked surprised. "No?"

"No. I think the bird – it was a condor like they have in California – and Many Marks were companions. He thought the bird was his totem, or spirit guide, so to speak. I think the two of them went out of their way to watch over and protect us because Many Marks believed the Thunderbirds had a purpose for us."

"He said something about you bringing justice, didn't he?"

Joe must have heard that when he was half-aware. "Yes. I think that had to do with Catterson."

"You mean turning him into the law so he can be tried?"

Did he?

Adam thought a moment before answering. "That, but something more as well. Prescott Catterson is not a bad man, Joe, he just got lost. If you think about it, he meant to take one or both of us captive, but I don't think he would have really killed either of us. He thought he was fighting for justice in his own way; justice for the men he lost to treachery in the war." He paused. "He let his anger overcome him when he ordered the raid on Many Marks' village, but his order to his men was not specifically to _kill_ – they made that choice. His only other crimes were executing Many Marks and choosing the wrong men to associate with." Adam looked at his bother sitting across from him, breathing – alive. "Prescott lost his little brother. The law will hold him accountable, but I imagine that was payment enough for his choices."

Joe acknowledged his meaning with a slight nod. As far as Catterson, he didn't look entirely convinced. "Pa says he'll be tried for murder."

"He will. But his fate will depend on the courts. Many Marks was a native. The village was an Indian village. Sad as it is to admit it, Prescott Catterson may well go free."

Joe rose and walked to the stable door. "That will make Ainslee happy."

"Maybe," Adam said as he followed. "It would be great to see her happy.'

His brother nodded. "I saw her inside, sitting with her father. She looked pretty sad."

He placed his hand on Joe's shoulder. "The problem with most people is that they place expectations on the ones they love and then fail to tell them what they are. Then, when the other person doesn't live up to them, they are disappointed and hurt. We're all just men, Joe. We're all flawed."

Joe remained silent for a moment. He looked at him, his face dead serious. "Not me. I'm perfect."

It took a second. First he laughed, then he cuffed his kid brother on the head. "You do remember what I said about boxing your ears?"

Joe ducked and slipped out of the door. A few feet into the yard he halted. "Hey, Adam?"

"Yes?" he asked as he followed.

Joe nodded toward the pen near the stable where they sometimes kept stock. There were two shadows beside the fence that surrounded it – one big and the other petite.

Hoss and Deirdre.

Adam placed an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Come, on Joe, it's time to get you inside, and probably best if we leave them alone."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

For a moment neither of them said anything, and then they both started in at once. Hoss stopped talking, pursed his lips, and then said, "Ladies first."

Deirdre was looking at the ground. "I said I'm sorry."

The big man frowned. "'Bout what?"

"When my father went with your pa and you wouldn't let us go after him. I was _so_ mean to you."

"Pshaw! You was just worried about your pa. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

"I guess..." She admitted. "I guess there are some things that men are better at than women."

He nodded. "Sure are." Then he added, as Deirdre's head came up and she looked at him. "But there's even more things women are good at than men."

Her eyes twinkled. "You're being sweet again."

"Adam tells me it's my middle name," he confessed. Then he added with a sigh, "I ain't sure that's such a good thing for a man."

Her hand caught his. "You're wonderful."

Hoss looked at her. They were standing by the stable yard fence. The moon was up and its silver light struck her slight form, highlighting the curves of her hip and breasts. Deirdre wore a rich wine-colored dress and had her hair swept up and held in place with several ivory combs.

She was beautiful beyond words.

"Do you gotta go?" he asked.

The brunette nodded. "Da needs me. Fiona's too young and Ainslee," she hesitated, "well, Ainslee has her own healing to do. There will be the trial to get through. Da will have to testify and most likely, Ainslee as well. I can't desert them now."

He nodded slowly. "I know'd that. Just like I know – well, I think – I love you, Miss Deid."

There was a pained look on her face. He wasn't sure why until a tear trailed down her cheek. "I love you too, Hoss," she said. "Maybe after the trial, maybe then I can come back. Would you like that?"

He squeezed her tiny little fingers with his big ones. "I sure would Miss..." At her look he amended it to, "Deidre."

Then he bent his head and kissed her on the lips.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe and Adam had reached the house. While they paused on the porch to speak for a moment more the door opened and Fiona stepped out.

"Oh!" she said, obviously distressed. "I'm sorry. I was looking for Deid."

Adam nodded toward the stable. "She's with Hoss."

The redhead looked and then blushed a deeper pink. "Sorry to have bothered you then. I'll just go back – "

"Adam?"

It was Joe.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like to talk to Fiona for a minute." He turned toward the girl, "That is, if it's okay with you."

It took a second but she nodded.

"Adam? Will you go inside and tell Pa I'll be right in?"

His brother looked at Gil's youngest, as if trying to judge from her reaction to his invitation whether they would have a new casualty if he did as he asked. Finally Adam said, "Okay, but make it quick. If you aren't in the house in a few minutes I imagine Pa will come looking."

Joe nodded his thanks to his big brother and then turned to the young woman standing before him. Fiona _was_ beautiful. He'd been so caught up in trying to stay away from the girls, and then in the events of the first week of their visit, that he hadn't really looked at her or gotten to know her as a person. The moonlight caught in her spiraling red hair and shimmered in the silken threads of her lavender dress, turning it to silver.

He looked at her a moment more and then thrust out his hand. "Friends?"

Fiona frowned. "What?"

"Well," he said, his lips curling in a smile, "if we're friends, friends write each other and come to visit. I'm hoping you'll do both, write me, and come back to visit. Maybe the next time we can take a buggy ride and I can show you around the Ponderosa."

Her aspect brightened. "You want to write to me?"

"Yeah, but I want you to write to me too. Tell me about Philadelphia. The only big city I've seen is San Francisco."

She took his hand. "Maybe _you_ could come visit us sometime? You and Hoss."

"We'd sure like to," he said softly. Then he laughed. "If Pa ever gives us time away from roping, breaking, and branding."

Fiona laughed. "I'll have my Da talk to your pa."

He squeezed her fingers. "You do that." As he released her hand, Joe added, "I have something I would like to give you before you go."

The redhead's eyes were bright like a little girl's. "A present for me? What is it?"

Joe reached out with his hand and caught her chin in his fingers and then bent in and brushed her lips with his.

"A goodbye kiss."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright had opened the door to the ranch house. He was anxious about Joe. Of course, when he opened it he saw that perhaps the spark was coming back into his son.

"Ahem," he said, clearing his throat.

Joe and Fiona started and parted guiltily. His son looked at him and smiled. "We were just saying 'goodbye', Pa."

"So I see, Joseph. Since you'll be going to bed and the Jenkins leave early in the morning, I want you to make sure you say goodbye to Gil too," he paused and added dryly, "though I would suggest a handshake."

Fiona glanced at her toes as Joe shuffled his feet. "Will do, Pa."

"Now why don't you escort Fiona to her father. He and Ainslee are on the settee."

Joe nodded and held his arm out. As Fiona took it, the pair headed for the door. Once they were inside, Ben sat on the edge of the wooden table as he had that first day, waiting for Gil to arrive. Inside, the party was winding down. Their guests would soon depart. It had been a wonderful evening full of dance, drink, and song, but he was ready for it to end. He hated to see Gil and the girls leave, but in a way he was ready for that to end too. He was ready for life to return to normal for him and his three sons and the spread.

As he sat there, thinking about the events of two weeks before, he heard the clop of horses' hooves sounding in the dark. A moment later two riders appeared and headed into the yard. The first was Roy Coffee.

The second was Prescott Catterson.

Catterson was mounted on a roan horse. His hands rested on the saddle horn before him. His body was bent forward as if it labored under a heavy weight and he averted his eyes, as if ashamed.

Roy dismounted and came to his side. "Ben," the lawman said as he tipped his hat, "you enjoying the night out under the stars?"

He indicated the house that was still blazing with light and filled with laughter. "It got a little loud inside."

"Party still goin' then?"

Ben's eyes were on Catterson. Obviously Roy didn't consider him a flight risk as his hands were free. "It's beginning to break up."

Roy glanced at the house. "How's Joe?"

How was Joe? Weak. Weary. "Healing."

The lawman nodded. "And Gil?"

Ben sighed. "Healing too." His old friend had lived under a burden of guilt for so long and under the threat of Catterson's reprisal, that the Scotsman found it hard to believe he was free.

Roy cocked his head toward his prisoner. "This one's got a long way to go. Maybe he'll get there if he don't hang."

"Is there to be a military tribunal?"

"Nope. Talked them into a civilian trial. All he's accused of is killing an Indian and raiding that village since both you and Gil dropped charges."

There was definite hint of disapproval in the sheriff's tone.

There were many reasons he and Gil had chosen not to seek justice for the wrong done to them through the law. The greatest was Ainslee.

"We didn't want to put Gil's girl through anything more than we had to – "

"Mister Cartwright?"

It was Catterson.

Ben turned, surprised. "Yes?"

The auburn-haired man straightened a bit in the saddle. "May I see Ainslee?"

He remembered the young woman sitting inside by her father, and the forlorn, hopeless look on her face.

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked Roy's prisoner.

"I'd like to... Well, I think I should tell her the truth."

"About?"

Catterson's dark eyes met his. "About everything."

Ben considered it. "Roy?"

The lawman shrugged. "So long as his hands are tied up, Ben, I'm okay with it. Let me do that and then you can get the girl." Roy turned to look at Catterson and then added, softly, "Honestly, Ben, I don't think he has it in him to run."

The sheriff inclined his head toward the wooden table on the porch. "After that, I'll just set me down over there for a spell then. Maybe one of your boys could bring me some punch?"

Ben nodded absentmindedly. "I'll go and get Ainslee."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ainslee Jenkins stopped just outside the ranch house door. She glanced at Sheriff Coffee where he sat on the table, and then stepped off the porch and went to Catt's side. He had dismounted and was standing by the roan, petting its side with his bound hands. She laid one of hers aside his and did the same. For some time neither of them said anything. Then Catt slipped his hands to the side and covered hers.

"I'm sorry, Aine," he said.

She frowned. "For what?"

"For everything. For what happened here two weeks ago, for what I tried to do to your father." He sighed. "For deserting you all those years ago."

The blonde closed her eyes against _that_ remembered pain. Her words, when they came out, were pinched. "It...hurt, Catt. More than anything I have ever known."

He was silent a moment. "I know this won't help, Aine, or mend anything, but I did it for you. I couldn't let go of my hate for your father. I...courted you so I could get to him. So I could destroy him."

"I know," she said, drawing a breath against the emotion rising in her. "You never loved me – "

"Ainslee, no! That's what I wanted to tell you." He looked directly at her, his dark eyes pinning hers. "I loved you too _much_. I couldn't do that to you. I left, hoping that I would be able to let it go, but the wound only festered. When I heard Adam Cartwright mention that your father was coming for a visit, it all came to a head and..." Catt looked down. "I lost my mind."

Her hand moved to his cheek. "Have you found it now?"

Without lifting his head, he answered, "Yes, but it's too late."

Tears escaped her eyes to run down her cheeks. "What's too late? I'm here. You're here."

"Like this!" He lifted his bound hands. "Aine, I'm going to be tried. I'm going to be hanged!"

She covered his hands with her own. "Da said he would speak for you. I will too."

Catt's eyes flicked to the ranch house. "You father? After _everything_ I did to ruin his life?"

"For me," she said softly. "He knows how much I love you."

"Still?"

She laid her cheek on their combined hands. "Still."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben stepped out of the house with the punch cup in hand and gave it to Roy. As the sheriff took it, he said, "Why don't you go get some food, Roy? I'll keep watch out here."

"I gotta deputize you afore you can do that, Ben."

The older man blinked. "What?"

Roy laughed. "Just joshin', Ben. Now you keep a right good eye on those two, you hear?"

He felt odd, standing and watching two people in love say their goodbyes. It was a personal moment but then, Prescott Catterson had forfeited the right to privacy when he made the poor choices he did. Earlier, when Roy had asked him if he wanted to press charges, he had told him the man was good enough at punishing himself. After all, it wasn't Catterson who shot Joe and no harm came to Adam. And perhaps, in letting it go, no harm would come to Ainslee Jenkins in the end.

Turning a little to the side, to give Ainslee and the man she loved as much chance as he could to make their goodbyes in private, Ben settled in to await Roy's return.

EPILOGUE 

Adam Cartwright descended the stair of the ranch house as quietly as he could so as not to awaken his father and brothers. A day had passed since the departure of Gil Jenkins and his daughters and normalcy had returned to the Ponderosa with the exception of Joe's recovery, which was going to be lengthy and chafing on his younger brother and, truth be told, on all of them.

Joe was not an easy colt to corral.

At the bottom of the stairs Adam turned and headed for the front door. He had gone to bed and fallen into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams he couldn't quite remember. After three hours he had awakened and been unable to fall back to sleep and so had decided to come downstairs for some milk and a snack.

Instead, something drew him to the door and the black night outside.

They were well into October now and the temperature was dropping. While the days were still hot at times, the nights were consistently chilly. He was in his robe, so he felt it. Still, the cool air was bracing and the sky overhead clear and brilliant with stars, and something about it coaxed him off of the porch and into the yard. As he came to rest about halfway between the house and the stable, Adam looked toward the south. There, over the lake, a pale sheet of lightning winked on and off, and he heard a rumble of thunder.

And a voice.

 _*Justice is done, Adam Cartwright. Your brother will heal and all will be well.*_

Adam stiffened. He glanced from side to side. At first he found nothing – then he saw him, standing in the shadows by the stable yard – the Indian wise man wearing a feather cloak.

"Who are you?" he asked as he took a step in the shaman's direction.

 _*We are many men. Among us is the one known as Many Marks.*_

"Many Marks is dead."

There was amusement in the answer. * _Only as a white man thinks*._

Adam halted about three yards away. "Why are you here?"

 _*To say goodbye. Our task, as yours, is done.*_

"Where will you go?"

 _*Back to the wind. Back to the rain and the sky. Back to guard the gates of Heaven.*_

The man in black fell silent. He lifted his head and looked up, imagining the great black bird with its wings spread wide standing before gates made of pearl. He had a thousand questions but they seemed irrelevant. After all he didn't know if he was really here or still back there in his bed dreaming. In the end there was only one thing to say.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving Joe. Thank you, for bringing justice."

 _*We may have brought it about, Adam Cartwright, but it was you who made it real.*_

As the shaman spoke a strong wind rose, blowing dust and debris through the yard and lifting the ends of his robe so they whipped about his knees. The native man who spoke disappeared into the shadows and then, almost more seen than felt, a great dark winged shadow rose from the darkness and passed overhead, blotting out the stars.

 _*Thank you.*_


End file.
